<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Dos gardenias by KyryeDuBarie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362023">Dos gardenias</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyryeDuBarie/pseuds/KyryeDuBarie'>KyryeDuBarie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Maybe I'll do Atsumu's side tho, Pining Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, TW: Emetophobia, sorta - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:09:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyryeDuBarie/pseuds/KyryeDuBarie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know where flowers have been.</p>
<p>--------------------------------<br/>For Haikyuu Angst week. A SakuAtsu Hanahaki AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Angst Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've been wanting to write Sakuatsu for like ages (I have like 3 WIPs for it, hopefully I'll post those in the near future) and Angst week just seemed somewhere where I wanted to try pairings other than my usual, so here we are.<br/>This is, quite obviously, angst heavy, and it's Sakusa's side of the story, it was a ride writing it, and I do ope I did his character justice<br/>TW// Emetophobia. Bodily fluids (not in a sexy sense at all)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You never know where flowers have been.</p><p>Where and how they were harvested, whether they were sprayed with organophosphates because at some point they were infested by tiny, nose-infesting tiny critters.</p><p>It shouldn’t be a surprise that Kiyoomi isn’t particularly fond of them.</p><p>Or better said, it doesn’t take a whole genius.</p><p>Miya isn’t a whole genius, in fact, he might even resent being called one, and on that Kiyoomi does agree. Genius leaves behind the countless hours, the sprained fingers, the torn ankle ligaments. Genius doesn’t even begin to cut it.</p><p>But maybe if he could be called even a little bit of a genius, he wouldn’t be so bent on getting a reaction out of Kiyoomi about the flowers he apparently cares for in his apartment. It’s like it’s not enough with everyone else’s praise -because, apparently, the other, more tolerable Miya had food where Miya Atsumu had gardening and Kiyoomi never asked to know that, but now he does, doesn’t he?- he has to at least have Kiyoomi make some sound over the damn things or he won’t be able to sleep properly at night.</p><p>They're sitting on the floor, backs propped into some mats. It's barely around midday but they're already both quite sweaty from training. Still, Miya somehow manages to smell nice, which s the only reason Kiyoomi allows him so close into his personal space.</p><p>Kiyoomi scoffs at the colorful picture shoved under his nose. “How do those things even survive with out schedule?” he asks, throwing Atsumu a sideways glance.</p><p>“I’ve got plenty of friend’s to help Omi-Omi.” Atsumu looks away face almost bashful. “And ‘Samu isn’t so bad at keepin’ ‘em alive either.”</p><p>“Ah-” Kiyoomi breathes out, stretching forward towards his aching calves. The longer practices when compared to the ones in the college circuit. “I knew it was just Osamu-san picking up after you.”</p><p>Miya’s glare is powerful, also somewhat satisfying. Kiyoomi laughs a little, low and short before coach Foster comes in, a grin wider than should be possible in his face. “Team, we’ve got a new member!”</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t fail to see the irony of what happens to him the week after Hinata joins the team and Miya's stupid hobby, but he does refuse to acknowledge it.</p><p>Or to be amused by it, even for a second.</p><p>This isn’t a good thing, after all, quite the contrary.</p><p>And worst things do come in threes, so the first time it happens, he’s sitting at a fancy table with a fancy long mantle -which brushes the floor, Kiyoomi tries not to touch it too much- in front of his parents, who are wearing twin, placating smiles, hands folded in front of each of them like creepy mannequins. Strike one.</p><p>“Should we order?” Kiyoomi mumbles through his mask. He did move to put some distance between himself and them, but a dinner once in a while is a lot less than all he owes them having never wanted for literally anything, so these things do happen on occasion. “This place has pleasing seafood.”</p><p>“Oh no, not yet.” His mother smiles even wider, faker. Her blazer is so perfectly pressed that Kiyoomi can’t help but appreciate it. “Rather, why don’t you tell us about your life here. Is there perhaps a lucky lady we don’t yet know about?”</p><p>Kiyoomi looks away. “No.”</p><p>One bad thing about wearing a mask is that people can’t tell when your mouth is curling in disgust, when your teeth are bared, when your lips are pursed in displeasure. And right now, Kiyoomi goes through all of those, throat growing just tight enough to hurt. His parents are not people prone to violent displays, they do not yell or hurl insults, they rarely even argue, it’s improper.</p><p>Instead they ignore, withdraw, deviate.</p><p>They have been, since Kiyoomi was in his second year of high school, hopelessly enamored with Ushijima Wakatoshi and foolishly thought he could speak up, stupidly believed it would stop the Omiai and other ‘casual’ set ups and coincidences that his mother <em>casually</em> fixed his lapels and hair for mere moments before they happened.</p><p>Of course, they waved him off, never said a thing other than some soft rebuttal or a prompt to talk about 'things of that kind' later. Never once acknowledged his confession, as if his words were the same as a toddlers babbles. Nothing to be regarded, he would grow out of it and into propriety, would be taught better like some dog. As far as they saw it, Kiyoomi was just sheltered and sensitive, and had ‘issues’.</p><p>Not like that last part isn't somewhat true, but the contrast is clear when he remembers his mother arguing with teachers to allow him more bathroom breaks to wash his hands and to allow a bottle of antibacterial spray n the classrooms. <em>That</em> was never something to be dismissed, it was something to be worked with, faced head on.</p><p>His father’s eyes -Kiyoomi’s eyes- narrow at their edges. “Well isn’t that lucky.” He says, voice absolutely confident, eyes flying to some point behind Kiyoomi. “Turn around, Kiyoomi.” The authority lacing the syllables is unquestionable. “Do you see that lady there? Right by the door?”</p><p>Kiyoomi nods, he sees her, appropriate dress, appropriate smile, appropriate hairstyle and probably bank account. She’s talking to the waiter at he entrance and he knows where this is going. Strike two.</p><p>“We really have been doing our best, darling-” his mother says, with those wide eyes that can make anyone feel guilty enough to lay down the world at her feet. “-please, do get to know her a little. She’s just what a boy like you needs. We’ve spoken at lengths, she is agreeable and gentle. I was sure she would be you type the second I saw her. A mother knows these things.”</p><p>Kiyoomi feels like he’s being described a doormat, or a mattress, not a person. He almost says it, having grown fed up of these things so long ago. But then he thinks of how agreeable sounds wrong, and gentle just makes him think of that insincere, manipulative voice his mother is making, and he shivers. No, if mothers knew these things, if <em>his</em> did, at least, she would be bringing someone else to this table. Someone the very opposite of that polished, calligraphy-perfect girl at the front of the restaurant.</p><p>Someone male, of course, but not just any man, one with a teasing streak, with a playful smirk that made him look younger. Someone that keeps Kiyoomi on his toes but knows enough of him not to push his more delicate buttons, someone-</p><p>He hasn’t drunk anything, but he chokes on his own words, a coughing it over coning him. Perhaps there was a little itch way back there this morning, but now it feels like he may have swallowed a wad of tissues. “Bathroom.” He hisses, and is parents’ eyes widen as he rises from the table. “Bathroom.”</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The petals are white, Kiyoomi isn’t fond of flowers.</p><p>He flushes the toilet, rubs his hands raw under the water pouring from the faucet and says not a word for the rest of the meal.</p><p>Strike three.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Doctor’s offices, much like flowers are not something Kiyoomi particularly enjoys.</p><p>After all where sick people gather so do germs.</p><p>He stand to the side, in a corner away from all the other occupants of the waiting room until his name is called. When it is, he takes the shortest route into the room where the smiling lady with the lab coat awaits him and gingerly sits down on the very edge of one of the chairs in front of her. All is simple, streamlined from there, she has his chart, knows his medications and diagnoses, Kiyoomi nods when prompted, and when she asks why he’s there he lays it on bluntly. “I am coughing out flower petals. It started last week.”</p><p>Her face falls.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The pillbox that he leaves the hospital with burns holes in his pocket.</p><p>Hopefully the referral to the Hanahaki specialist will come through soon. All will be done then, all will be easier.</p><p>Locking his fingers around the inner edges of his gloves, Kiyoomi turns them inside out, they end up in the trash bin right by his doorstep and he doesn’t waste a second in turning on his treadmill.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Kiyoomi takes one pill that night and then he's so dizzy that he can't stand up from the couch without holding on to something, no this isn't going to do.</p><p>Side effects, it’s all about the side effects.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Practice is normal, as it should be, a couple of weeks should never be enough for roots to grow way down in his lungs and Kiyoomi wouldn’t let them get that far anyways. If he has to hang his head and ask his parents he will, but as long as there’s another option he can handle the discomfort.</p><p>Miya calls out to him, it’s a blur, a golden second where his palm stings and his wrist bends in that wholly satisfying way that the others haven’t experienced nor do they understand. “Whoo! Sharp!” Miya bellows, prancing over with a smirk and a high five that stops short. “Uh-” awkward, he looks down. “That was a good one Omi-Omi,.” He smiles at the floor.</p><p>“Hn-” Kiyoomi realizes hes staring, “Just the usual.”</p><p>“Don’tcha mean yer setter’s amazing too?” Miya sorts. “My, yer arrogant Omi-Omi.”</p><p>Kiyoomi huffs. “Not arrogance if it’s the truth.”</p><p>Amusement sparks in Miya’s eyes, and then he’s laughing, honey-like, pouring over and out at the same time that Kiyoomi’s throat clogs. He manages a disparaging glare at the man and Miya stops laughing. Even though his frantic retreat in the general direction of the bathrooms, Kiyoomi can hear him calling out. "What are ya mad about now Omi-Omi?" It’s a small mercy that he manages to get to the changing rooms without starting to cough. Of course, that’s as far as he can hold it, and Kiyoomi is a flurry of white petals all the way to the toilets.</p><p>Half a look at the bloody mess of petals and stems in the toilet is enough to send cold sweat breaking out over his forehead.</p><p>Kiyoomi sighs, internally praying for the end of the month -and thus, his appointment with the Hanahaki specialist- to come soon, then he can get these damned things out of his lungs once and for all and everything will be the way it was before the meeting with his parents became the catalyst for his current situation.</p><p>A pair of fresh latex gloves is plucked from inside his locker and Kiyoomi goes about hunting for stray flower petals. He thinks he’s gotten them all before getting back to practice, he even feels a little pleased with himself at how together he held it a she does his usual stretching routine. Everyone else is already gone and Kiyoomi finally feels like he can let the muscles of his neck relax.</p><p>He pays especial care to his wrists, as always, flexibility has it's ups and downs.</p><p>Once done, he heads for the dressing rooms. The showers ought to be empty already, it only makes more sense to either be the first or the last, at least there’s less risk of getting splashed.</p><p>“-woulda known ya were a kinky one.” Miya’s voice is saying and Kiyoomi’s every instinct is yelling at him to go practice his serves, or stretch, or just get out of here all gross and sweat-drenched.</p><p>“Well, you grabbed my ass!” It’s Hinata’s voice. Despite himself, Kiyoomi sees green for a second, right before a bitter sort of resignation overcomes him. It isn’t odd that it would be this way, hasn’t Miya carried a torch for Hinata since high-school? Now they’re unhindered by youth and any other restrictions. If anything, he should’ve seen this coming miles and miles away.</p><p>“So ya grabbed my dick is what yer sayin’” Miya protests with a laugh. “Not complaining tho’. Yer fun Shou-chan.”</p><p>There’s a snort and someone drops into the bench, their heavy body making a thudding sound as they sigh. “Aww ‘TsumTsum are you getting mushy on me?” Hinata laughs and Kiyoomi really should stop eavesdropping, but it’s like his sneakers have melted into the concrete of the floor. Some sort of sick thing holds him in place. Then again, this might just be useful, there’s only a handful of cases of people actually overcoming their Hanahaki feelings and not needing surgery. Kiyoomi has always been outstanding maybe in this, he will be too.</p><p>The blooming at the base of his neck says no, it says that Miya’s voice still sounds like homey, like nectarines and how the hell is that even possible? “Nah,” Atsumu laughs, and then speaks more quietly, cautiously. “Why, are you?”</p><p>The air in the room turns heavy.</p><p>“Nope.” The grin in Hinata’s face can almost be heard. “I’m glad were cool then?” Miya must nod or something, because there’s some rustling, everything goes quiet and Kiyoomi’s body is suddenly not paralyzed anymore.</p><p>This is the right time, he realizes, because if they decide to fuck again, he's going to have to wait out here for ages or risk exposing himself.</p><p>His steps inside are confident, back straight, nose tilted up haughtily. “I thought I was the last one here.” He says, heading for his locker to get his towel. Miya and Hinata look like spooked animals, they shake their heads in unison and Miya slips into a t-shirt so hurriedly that he puts it on backwards. Kiyoomi averts his eyes, they’re not in practice, he shouldn’t be looking at Miya.</p><p>“We-I was just leaving Omi-san.” Hinata puffs, rosy cheeked, hair a mess. He slips his feet into outdoor shoes and bends down to tie the laces. “Oh, hey, what’s this?” Kiyoomi has his shower stuff in his arms already, but he commits the mistake of turning around just as the ginger holds up a small speck of white, sharply contrasting against the tanned tone of his skin. “Looks like some kind of flower petal.”</p><p>Miya, who has fixed his shirt at last, leans in to take a look. “That’s from a gardenia Shou-chan.” He snatches the snowy bit from Hinata’s fingers and rubs it gingerly between his own, probably feeling the velvety thickness of it. “Well, I think so, ‘s hard to tell like this. But it looks like one, certainly smells like it.” The petal is under his nose, the petal that was inside Kiyoomi, he feels bile rise up to his throat. “Strange tho’ I haven’t seen any bushes around here.”</p><p>“Ohhh gardenias.” Hinata snatches the petal back, Kiyoomi’s stomach roils. “There’s this song heard  couple of times in Brazil, Dos Gardenias? I think. It’s in Spanish anyways, it’s pretty.”</p><p>Kiyoomi whirls around violently, hands clutching at his towel, teeth gritting. He can’t be there for a second longer, can’t keep looking at Miya’s stupid grin or Hinata’s awed eyes. He can’t stand them touching that thing like it wasn’t… like it wasn't…</p><p>The wad of petals that he throws up into the shower floor is yellow. This time he makes sure that all of them are properly disposed of.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>A call to his mother is long overdue. She gripes and scolds and guilts. Kiyoomi’s head is somewhere else anyways. When she’s finally said her piece, he waits for a second before sighing into the speaker. “What do gardenias mean?” his voice couldn’t be more restrained, more even, like it really was some passing, inane thought that became a question.</p><p>Needless to say, shes struck speechless.</p><p>She still answers though. Even though she didn't teach Kiyoomi, he has seen her pouring over floral arrangements more than once, griping about this or that meaning.</p><p>Kiyoomi doesn't ask about the yellow roses, that meaning is one even he knows about.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>“- bleeding, infection, relapsing of the infection, loss of lung and functional capacity, injury to nearby structures including your esophagus, heart, blood vessels and spine. Not to mention that you <em>will</em> lose any and all feelings that have anything to do with that person, there have been cases where even memories were affected. This may hinder your performance at work and even within your social circle, since you’ve told me that you work with this person. Are you absolutely sure that you don’t want to try any other treatment options?”</p><p>Walking right into the doctor’s office with a surgery brochure in his hand ans saying in no uncertain terms that Kiyoomi wants the stupid plants uprooted now didn’t work out the way he thought it would. “What do you mean loss of lung or functional capacity?” He asks from where he’s sitting straight-backed on the chair. The older man made emphasis on it while speaking and Kiyoomi couldn’t help but notice.</p><p>“It’s a minimal risk, since you’ve come so early, but with you being a professional athlete, it must be noted that you understand you might lose some of your capacity to perform the way you do right now.” He says is in a matter-of -fact-tone, like he’s talking about the weather. Kiyoomi clenches his fists.</p><p>“Then why do you do this surgery? If something like that might happen.” Do people usually just listen to that and give the go ahead? How can anyone be that relaxed. Kiyoomi can almost imagine himself connected to an oxygen tank or something of the sort.</p><p>The man clears his throat. “It isn't common, like I said. And even when it does happen, the repercussions aren’t so large. I am concerned about it when it comes to you because your line of work is physically demanding though.” To that, Kiyoomi doesn’t have an answer, he wants the damned plants gone, but the price might be quite high, not only will he probably forget most of the past year but it might also affect how  he plays. “I'll tell you what, you seem quite determined, so lets do this. I will order the blood work and the scans that you would get before the surgery and give you a different prescription that won't cause so much dizziness. If, in a month, you find it’s intolerable even with the medication we will schedule your surgery right away.”</p><p>A month, so, close to October. By then the season will be over. No one will have to know.</p><p>Kiyoomi sighs, then nods.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Rage overcomes him as soon as he gets home, so it’s either he chokes on stupid, unwanted feelings until he dies, or he gets them removed and chokes on the after effects?</p><p>It’s not like he was looking to fall for some guy he barely spared a glance at when they were teenagers.</p><p>Hell, he certainly never tried to even <em>like</em> Miya, the bastard worked his way in like a worm into an apple and now he’s off happily doing whatever he is doing with Hinata while Kiyoomi has to have his sternum cracked open and his lungs ripped apart to deal with the damned consequences.</p><p>His nail beds are picked bloody by the time sleep finds him, staring at the ceiling of his room, phone playing that one sultry, stupid song about gardenias.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>If he could hate Miya for long, Kiyoomi wouldn't be having this problem in the first place.</p><p>As it is, they have an away game in Sendai and Kiyoomi does <em>something</em> while blocking -which isn’t something he even does often, ugh- and he feels his wrist punch out. It goes back in right away. And his mobility range is as wide as usual. But the thing <em>hurts</em> and it’s his right one.</p><p>So he’s clumsily wrapping tape around it while Bokuto has an interview, and Miya just has to step in looking all worried and acting like he gives a damn. “Uh, can I help ya with that Omi-Omi? Is it hurting?”</p><p>Kiyoomi chokes on what feels like a branch, and Miya must interpret it as pain from his wrist because he’s suddenly sitting down on the bench, fingers softly brushing over the skin of his wrist, leaving trails of pins and needles across it. Kiyoomi usually would be thinking of where those hands were just now, trying to remember, but Miya’s fingers are long and just the right amount of bony, his fingernails cropped perfectly short and kept pristine. “Fuck-” he mumbles when he finally swallows the flower back down and Miya presses into the external prominence of his wrist. Miya looks up, eyes wide, almost panicked. “The last block-” Kiyoomi explains. “-I can move it fine, it just-” he bites his lip when Miya squeezes again.</p><p>“Hurts, right?” The setter says. “Can I help you wrap it?”</p><p>Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, swallows hard. “Now you ask?”</p><p>“Hey, I asked before!” Miya reaches out for the sports tape that Kiyoomi was just trying to put around his wrist. “Not my fault ya were too busy checkin’ me out to answer."</p><p>Scoffing, Kiyoomi forces himself to stay still. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head at some point out there? I was clearly annoyed by your screeching.” At least he can still act normal. He must not have that many flowers, or maybe the medication is working. Perhaps Kiyoomi could live like this, if the medication really does work.</p><p>It was all over the stupid pamphlet, smiling people with pillboxes that looked full enough to belong to an eighty year old with stupid slogans that read things like ‘No way, Hanahaki? Lethal?’ and other variations of things. He shakes his head and realizes Miya hasn’t said anything. Kiyoomi looks up and only then does the setter decide to talk. “Back on earth, aren’t ya Omi-Omi? Don’t think I don’t notice you spacin' out so much lately.” He grins, and the tape tightens around Kiyoomi’s wrist. “Does our lil Omi-Omi have a crush?”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s eyes widen, just like that his throat closes up. He starts couching, but manages to swallow the petals. “Don’t you have someone else to bother Miya?” He rasps out the moment the coughing fit subsides.</p><p>But Miya doesn’t seem to be planning to let go any time soon, he’s done wrapping it, but Kiyoomi’s hand is still in his grasp. “Is it Shou-chan? Is that why you were so pissy the other night? Because we’re no-” Kiyoomi snatches the hand away and stands up violently, all of his effort directed to keeping a straight face as he runs out of the changing room, hoping to hell, heaven, and anything else there might be that there’s another bathroom close by.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>He stops sitting close to Miya after that, instead taking any extra time to stretch or practice his serving.</p><p>It's not like they're friends, at best friendly acquaintances. Kiyoomi has't even been in the team for a year now, so there's no reason for him to play it up, one thing is the feelings he might have, another very different one is what's real. What's obvious.</p><p>Or at least reasonably deductible.</p><p>Miya doesn't afford him the same courtesy, though, and where the pills seemed to work the first week, Kiyoomi finds himself running off to the bathroom more often than not.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The tiny numbers on the thick hospital paper fill Kiyoomi with relief.</p><p>Normal blood work, just in time for his appointment  next week.</p><p>Just in time, just in time.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>At least Miya isn't such a big person that he would tolerate Kiyoomi's facade of disdain with a straight face and mild manners -as surely would any of the girls his parents have cuasi-engaged him to-, n, Miya explodes, he makes his displeasure and how unfair he thinks Kiyoomi is being known.</p><p>Sometimes Kiyoomi wants to ask him to wait.</p><p>But then Miya might ask, and once that one latches on to something, he doesn't let go.</p><p>And if there has been something that he was sure of about this whole thing from the start it was that telling him would not only be futile, but deeply mortifying. Over all, it wouldn't lead anywhere different.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>“Oh no, we’re not switching.” Meian says with his usual grinning face. “I have no idea who pissed who off after last game, but none of us is going to coddle either your ranting-” he points at Miya. “Or your generally being pouty.” His finger shifts to Kiyoomi. “That’s precisely why Hinata is sharing a room with me tonight. Go, figure it out.”</p><p>“No fair!” Miya cries, and of course he wold protest. “I can sleep with Bokkun, right?” he turns to the man in question. “Right?”</p><p>Bokuto scratches the back of his head. “Uh, I kinda got an upgrade to a single, since it's the last game of the season and all... um- ‘kaashi is staying over.”</p><p>All Miya can do is groan, Kiyoomi shares the sentiment.</p><p>All Kiyoomi can do is watch helplessly as they all flit to their rooms, both annoyed and aggravated at the ‘pouty’ commentary.</p><p>Finally he dares a look at Miya who is staring down at his phone, smiling slightly. Kiyoomi wants to say something but right as he opens his mouth, the godforsaken petals rush up and all he can do is turn around and head for the elevator with a sigh.</p><p>Miya doesn’t follow.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>This was not in Kiyoomi’s plans.</p><p>Although with a team as meddling as theirs, he should have expected that they would notice how he’s avoiding Miya.</p><p>And of course, that they also would arrive to an entirely wrong conclusion. Kiyoomi has been careful not to let anything about his state slip out. Even if they didn’t know it’s Miya, it would be a pain to have them fawning or worse, doubting if he can stand in the court with the, which is truly the only thing getting him by as he waits for his next appointment.</p><p>Miya prances in front of him, something green on his face, dyed hair hanging wetly over his forehead, at least it’s not that ugly burnt-yellow color he used to have in high school. The lighter blond does wonders in making him look a little less like an asshole. Not that he isn’t one.  “So why?” Kiyoomi looks up, said ass is standing in front of the bed, hands behind his head. “Why are ya mad at me? Yer not petty enough to hold a grudge cuz I teased ya about a girl-” he stops, almost like he’s trying to make the end of the sentence more dramatic. “-Right?”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s lips twist into a grimace, for once not covered with one of his masks. The truth so close yet something he can’t say, tickling at the back of his throat. “What do you think?” </p><p>Miya mirrors his gesture, dusk pink lips pursing in displeasure. “I think-” he says, taking a step forward, suddenly making Kiyoomi feel like he has been cornered. “I don’t know, ok? I guess it’s because I touched ya like that, can't think of anythin' else I did that warrants this level of mad-” he shrugs, flopping down on the bed and reaching out until his hand is right above one of Kiyoomi’s shins. He can’t help but stiffen, the tickling in the back of his throat suddenly oppressive, cutting off the air flow. “-I guess I just won’t touch ya anymore, will that make ya happy Omi-Omi?”</p><p>“Tch-” Kiyoomi swallows, swallows, swallows again. Chest burning, throat burning, eyes burning. “-I wonder how it must feel to learn manners so late in life.” He tries o smirk, but only manages to get one of the corners of his mouth to twitch.</p><p>Miya’s eyes travel from Kiyoomi’s face, down to where his hand is still hovering over his leg. He jerks it back, as if burned by the knowledge that it’s still there. “Guess I do know my spikers.” The setter says, looking at the palm that’s cradled to his chest. “Yer a pain to read Omi-Omi,” his lips press together. Something like disappointment simmering in his tone. “Imma go sleep, big game tomorrow don’tcha know?” And then he’s up, and he’s gone, headed back to his own bed.</p><p>And Kiyoomi can only stare, feeling like something somehow just broke.</p><p>At least Miya falls asleep quickly and Kiyoomi doesn’t have to wait long before slipping out of the door and down to the lobby bathroom.</p><p>These roses have stems, these roses have thorns.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Turns out, sleep is not a balm of any kind.</p><p>He does get a full night, but the cost of it is a medley of feverish, deep enough as to be hard to escape, dreams.</p><p>Dreams in which Miya doesn’t move his hand away, dreams where he braces it on Kiyoomi’s shin and climbs over him until his thighs are on either side of Kiyoomi’s hips.</p><p>And it all makes no sense because in those dreams, despite the roiling of nerves in his stomach, the wave of nausea and anxiety that would have come from such unexpected close contact never does. They are, of course, dreams, and anything that happens in them should be taken with a grain of salt.</p><p>The sliver of sky outside is dark, overcast, Kiyoomi’s eyes cant help but drift down to the bed under the window, where Miya is laying in a starfish position,  right hand dangling off the bed, mouth half open so he’s -disgustingly- drooling on the pillow.</p><p>This time it’s so violent and sudden, that for a second the expression ‘hacking a lung out’ comes to feel absolutely true. Still, even in his panic, Kiyoomi doesn’t dare let Miya see the flowers. What is there here but them both, , he holds the coughs back as well as he can and dashes for the door, no time to even grab a mask or gloves. For  second, he considers barging into one of the other’s rooms, making an excuse about messed up food and Miya taking up the bathroom to put the egregious amounts of product that he usually wears in his hair. But he didn’t make the reservations, he might barge in on a stranger.</p><p>The next best thing is a janitor’s closet, a mop bucket that seems to have been put there by the gods themselves. As if to say ‘sorry everything about your life sucks right now and you might just be about to spit out  vital organ, here’s a bucket so you don’t make a mess’. There’s not time to even close the door, Kiyoomi coughs, heaves into the bucket, tiny specks of dirty water splash back at him and it only makes him heave more, throat raw.</p><p>Only then does he realize the presence behind him.</p><p>“Omi-” Bokuto is standing there, sleepy eyes wide, moth gaping open, fuck, <em>fuck.</em></p><p>And Kiyoomi might be able to do something, say something, but there’s <em>dirty mop water</em> on his face and there’s something running down his chin and under his shirt.</p><p>“Hey, it’s ok,” Bokuto soothes, and large hands come up before they retreat. He glances at the mess in the bucket. “Our room is next door, c’mon, you can clean up there.”</p><p>Kiyoomi follows mutely, the prospect of someone else's bathroom isn’t very palatable, but anywhere that won’t have him vomiting plants and has a functional shower sounds like heaven at the moment.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Red around his eyes.</p><p>Red running from his mouth.</p><p>Damned plants.</p><p>Damned Miya.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>“This might help your throat.” Akaashi Keiji says, gesturing at a lone cup of tea that sit innocently on top of a room service cart as son as Kiyoomi peeks out of the bathroom in a bathrobe that isn't meant for him. “The tea is my own, and I made sure they boiled the water.” Kiyoomi blinks at him, feeling both grateful and a little jittery. “Koutarou went to get you clothes and a mask. I believe he said the official story wold be that the spilled hot chocolate on you-”</p><p>“How would-” Kiyoomi sighs, suddenly too tired to even ask. “Thank you Akaashi-san.” He says instead, this boyfriend of Bokuto’s has always been a pleasant person. “Chamomile and honey?” he sniffs at the tea once more.</p><p>“Yes.” Akaashi says, settling down primly on the bed while Kiyoomi sits on the little chair that accompanies the desk.</p><p>He looks like eh wants to ask, but it’s not like they are particularly close and Kiyoomi must look like the last thing he wants is why Bokuto -with his perfect boyfriend, perfect love- just found him puking up a mix of gardenias and yellow roses, stems and all, onto a bucket mop on the day of the final match of the League. Luckily, before ether of them gets the opportunity to ask about the elephant in the room, Bokuto bursts through the door with a bundle of clothes and Kiyoomi gulps down the tea even though his throat burns fiercely.</p><p>“Thank you-” he says and finds his way into the bathroom without, the first thing he puts on is his mask, the faint pull at his ears comforting.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Later on, when the happy couple drags him down to have actual breakfast, Akaashi goes to get more cheese from the buffet and Kiyoomi finds Bokuto’s bird-like eyes blatantly staring at him.  “Are you alright to play?” He frowns at Kiyoomi’s curt nod. “And next year-”</p><p>“I’m getting it taken care of soon.” Kiyoomi cuts him off. “I wouldn’t let it interfere with the National team.”</p><p>For a couple of seconds, Bokuto just watches him, eyes wide as saucers. “Wait, does that mean you’re gonna get Tsu-”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s plate slams down on the table as he stands up, the porcelain clinking despite the tablecloth. “I think I grabbed too little fruit.”</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>They win.</p><p>And the flowers behave themselves.</p><p>For the most part.</p><p>Maybe they’re just taking a bit to grow with how many of them he puked out this morning.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Kiyoomi has never understood the drive to get blackout drunk after playing incredibly mentally and physically taxing games, he just feels like he wants to be on his orthopedic mattress. He can’t make anyone change that kind of tradition though and for once he is feeling very much in need of a strong drink.</p><p>At least from tomorrow it’s all smooth sailing, they have a week break and he already got some vacation time approved -which was <em>not</em> a fun discussion, seeing as he had to disclose that he was getting surgery to the owners of the team, at least they didn’t ask <em>who </em>was causing the Hanahaki-.</p><p>It’s just one more night of Miya that he has to survive and hopefully the setter will pass out in Hinata and Meian’s room or something and it’ll just be the train ride home.</p><p>That would have been a decent plan, sink a bit, wait for Miya to be sloshed and run off to the room after telling someone else to take case of him.</p><p>Even to himself it’s a surprise when he doesn’t, he slips into the private room in the bar of the hotel that they’re staying in until tomorrow and grabs the first glass of whiskey he’s presented with. And the second, and the third. The back of his throat burns, he guesses it’s from how the flowers tore through the flesh there this morning.</p><p>“Omi-san, you’re really drinking with us?” Hinata plops down on the chair beside him.</p><p>Kiyoomi eyes him carefully, a prick of pettiness tells him to be mean, as it has since he heard that one conversation in the locker room. “It’s our first championship.” He shrugs. “It’s an exception.”</p><p>Hinata searches his face, with wide, luminous eyes that seem to be able to see through Kiyoomi and all the way back to Brazil. “Uh-” Kiyoomi finishes his drink and tugs up his mask, suddenly feeling as if he’s been passed through an x-ray scanner. “Are you ok? You look all-” he tugs his cheeks down. “-all like that. Did something happen?”</p><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t miss the way the ginger’s eyes drift to where Miya is having an arm wrestling contest with Bokuto -a contest he’s probably bound to lose too- for a second, he almost wants to tell the truth. If this were Motoya, maybe he would, he is the only person Kiyoomi would somewhat trust with this. Hinata is the opposite, for many reasons but for tonight he can leave it at the face that they really don’t know each other that well. The roses hurt, he’s not looking forward to them. “It’s not anything specific.” He says simply.</p><p>“Right..” Hinata’s voice echoes, it almost lingers. “And you’re not gonna go visit family or anything? You’re from Tokyo originally, that might cheer you up.”</p><p>Kiyoomi must be drunker than he thought because he laughs, just loud enough to startle a couple of looks out of Miya and Inunaki. “ Just saw my parents a couple of weeks ago,” he leans forward, leaves his glass on the table. “It’s fine, I think I’m just going to turn in for the night.</p><p>“Before someone pukes, you mean?” Hinata says, he has a ind face, an understanding one. Kiyoomi, blunt to the core, almost blurts out a ‘before I do’, but then Miya is coming closer, face set with a stubbornness that spells trouble.</p><p>Kiyoomi nods, standing up in a swift movement. “See you tomorrow.”</p><p>“See ya, Omi-san.”</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>The worst is that he almost makes it.</p><p>Kiyoomi makes a pit stop in the hotel’s bathroom to spit out some gardenias and then heads for his and Miya’s room.</p><p>Going to visit his parents might not be too- he shakes his head, this is driving him <em>that</em> crazy, huh?</p><p>Now to sleep, just another night, he’s opening the door to the room, almost tasting the relief of a bed and common courtesy protecting him from unwanted questions, keeping his eyes away from a form he has no business looking at. One that he’s going to forget soon anyways. That’s the moment when a hand closes around his shoulder, no courtesy, no sense of personal space.</p><p>Kiyoomi whips around, slapping the hand away as the door cracks open behind him, drawing himself up to full height and glaring at Miya with all his might from above his mask. “What do you want?” It’s not unwarranted, he thinks, everyone knows Kiyoomi doesn’t particularly like others touching him with no warning.</p><p>Miya drank more than he did, it’s obvious with the way he’s swaying a little and how he reeks of rum. “Calm down Omi-Omi!” He coos, loud enough that if the people in the other rooms weren’t all downstairs getting wasted, Kiyoomi would worry. “I jus’ wanted to talk, but yer avoidin’ me so I kinda needed to get yer attention.” He looks up a little, the height difference between them is barely perceivable, but Kiyoomi is looming and Miya is a little hunched, hands raised in a placating manner beside is head.</p><p>“I thought we made this clear last night.” Kiyoomi knows that’s not going to cut it. “Why is it so hard for you to get over the fact that not everyone wants to follow you around like dogs.”</p><p>Miya looks at him, unimpressed. “Yer deflectin’ thing is gettin’ old-” he hiccups, a hand rising to nudge at Kiyoomi’s chest , effectively causing him to take to steps back into the room. “-an’ that’s a dumb one, ya know I’m not that popular. What I can’t get over is not why ya don’t want ta be around me, it’s why ya stopped.”</p><p>The breath in Kiyoomi’s throat freezes, a stray petal or two cling to it. “You’re drunk, Miya, stop spouting nonsense.” He turns around and makes it another two steps in, long enough to her the door being kicked closed.</p><p>Suddenly there’s actual, insentient pressure around his left arm and he’s being pulled back and turned around. Miya’s other hand finds his collar and Kiyoomi could get loose, but he’s too busy falling to pieces inside in every sense. “Stop treatin’ me like I’m stupid! We were sorta friends for a bit an’ it was nice! Then the next week ya decide yer not talkin’ to me anymore, are ya twelve?” there’s barely any light in the room, the shine to Miya’s eyes is still visible though. “An’ don’t tell me it’s ‘cause I grabbed your hand the other day, it started way before.”</p><p>Under his mask, Kiyoomi’s mouth has fallen open. He can feel Miya’s hand of him as acutely as he can the cold sweat that has broken out on his back and over his forehead.</p><p>It’s only now, with Miya here, saying these words that Kiyoomi stops wondering how the damned feelings that have originated his current predicament came to be. He can feel himself getting overwhelmed from that touch, from Miya’s look alone. There are so many things tangling with the petals in his throat, but all that comes out is an involuntary jerk back of his whole body. “LET GO OF ME!” The yell startles Miya, and he immediately removes his hands, letting Kiyoomi back up into the wall, breathing hard.</p><p>In the half-light, he can see Miya’s breath hitch under the black T-shirt he wears. “Sorry, Sakusa.” He looks away, dejected, though it only lasts for a second before he looks back at Kiyoomi. “Look, fine, I have no idea what the fuck I did, ok? Hate me if y want, but at least tell me why, it’s eatin’ at me.”</p><p>Suddenly Kiyoomi’s lips are shaking, then fluttering open and forming words without his consent. “Is that the only reason you want to know?”</p><p>“See there is somethin’!” Miya takes a step forward, hands held at his sides. “Well, yeah- I-” he sighs. “I like knowing my-”</p><p>Kiyoomi’s heart misses a beat, for a second he feels like he has fallen into the hole between It and the next. “-your spikers.” He huffs, bitterness that has nothing to do with the flowers rising. “To answer your question,” Kiyoomi clears his throat. “You pry too much, it’s bothersome so I decided to put some distance between us.” Turning around, he heads for their bathroom. “I’m not feeling well.” Miya has never really seen him drink, for all he knows Kiyoomi might just be the kind that throws up after three drinks.</p><p>He doesn’t need to know he’s about to throw up a whole garden.</p><p>“I was gonna say friends.” Comes Miya’s resentful voice from behind him. “But I guess ya never even considered me that much- <em>fuck</em>, what an id-” Kiyoomi can’t help but glance back, not when Miya's voice sounds like <em>that</em>, what has he to lose at this point anyways? “I’m gettin another room.”</p><p>An he indeed does, Miya gets his duffel bag, shoves in the few personal items he left on top of the bed earlier and stalks right out of the room.</p><p>For a second, Kiyoomi wants to stop him, but he’s too resigned to his fate at this point, and the flowers are coming, an impossible amount that he has to rush to the toilet for.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Monday comes in what feels like a century.</p><p>Kiyoomi hates sleeping pills but at this point they are his lifeline, though even the medications can’t stop Miya’s hurt expression from flashing through his dreams.</p><p>It’s absolutely unfair, and he almost tells his doctor so. Almost.</p><p>“The medication isn't working at all, and this is interfering with my life. I want the surgery. I understand if it’s not withing your protocol to do it this early, in that case I just ask that you give me a referral to someone who will do it?” He says instead, a little tempted to add a please to that last sentence, if only because he just wants this to be over, just wants this to be done.</p><p>Maybe when the stupid flowers and the feelings are out, he can say he was acting like an idiot. Miya would forgive him. Miya <em>will</em> and Kiyoomi can go back to just being a person he talks to in the locker room, and it won’t be hard for either of them.</p><p>And neither of them will choke on stupid flowers anymore.</p><p>“First I will ask you to calm down.” The man says, his voice kindly. “It’s alright, Sakusa-san, not every case responds to medication. Your labs look just fine. According to the scans, there are some roots reaching the pleura of your left lung, but we can remove those too. You do remember what I explained about the recovery times and post-op care, right?” He sighs, studying Kiyoomi’s face. “Our earliest available spot for surgery is around this time next week. If it’s your wish you can schedule it with my secretary outside. I’ll give you an anesthesiology referral.”</p><p>It’s the strangest thing, in the wave of relief that washes over Kiyoomi then, there’s a brilliant streak of fear and disappointment that he never thought he might feel.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>
  <em>Your procedure: <span class="u">REMOVAL OF PLANT BASED MATTER RELATED TO HANAHAKI DISEASE AND LEFT PULMONARY DECORTICATION </span>Has been scheduled for Monday September 23  at 14:30. Remember not to consume any solid foods on the day of your appointment, and no clear liquids in the six hours immediately before it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Since this is a major surgical procedure, we encourage you to have a close family member, partner or friend on stand-by In case of complications or eventualities.</em>
</p><p><em>Please input your emergency contact</em> <em>’s details here:</em></p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>Motoya is his first choice.</p><p>Only Kiyoomi is too scared the hospital <em>will</em> call to verify his emergency contact numbers. And he hasn’t told Motoya anything, he hasn’t told anyone anything.</p><p>The world of Pro Volleyball is particularly small, basically everyone knows everyone from high school, especially now with all the 'monster generation buzz. Not that he doesn't trust his cousin, but Bokuto and Akaashi knowing about the Hanahaki are already too people too many.</p><p>And he can’t put anyone form the team in either, for obvious reasons.</p><p>How ironic that the only people that seem relatively safe to tell are the ones he least wants to talk to.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: ME -16:45</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Mother.</em>
</p><p><em>I</em> <em>’m getting small medical procedure done next week.</em></p><p><em>It</em> <em>’s nothing you need to worry about, but the hospital asked for an emergency contact number. I wrote down yours.</em></p><p>
  <em>Do not be worried if they call you.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: MOTHER -16:49</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Kiyoomi! Are you unwell?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course darling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Do you want me to come to Osaka?</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: ME -16:59</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>No, it</em> <em>’s something small. You don’t need to come.</em></p><p><em>I just wanted to make sure it didn</em> <em>’t catch you off guard.</em></p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>The fact that it almost works is probably the most surprising.</p><p>Still, by Friday night his mother is knocking on Kiyoomi’s door, face ashen and set into a frown that could scare off a god. “Since when is this-” she lifts a paper. “-something small. Your uncle explained it to me, you’re getting your chest cracked open!" She throws her hands up. "If you had told us we would have arranged for it to happen in Tokyo! Kiyoomi, you need to let us be there for you!"</p><p>So much for his parents being the least troublesome option. “How did you get that?” Kiyoomi asks, stepping aside. “It’s against the law for anyone to give out my medical information like that.”</p><p>“I’m your mother.” She huffs barging inside. “I simply told the lady who called me that you lost the papers and asked her to send a copy to my e-mail.” She’s dragging a small suitcase behind her, clearly his mother is here to stay. “Now, we really need to talk-” she leaves the suitcase in the living room and heads for the kitchen. “-please tell me you have some decent tea, I’m so mad I think I might pass out.”</p><p>Kiyoomi points her to the tea. “You didn’t need to come.” He says curtly. “Especially if you’re this mad.”</p><p>“That’s precisely why I needed to come.” She looks up at him with wide, worried eyes, so far from her usual manicured composure that it startles Kiyoomi. “My only child is getting his chest cracked open? Isn’t there medicine for that thing now? Have you even tried? You can be so extreme sometimes, how do you not want me to worry? How do you not want anyone else to worry? I guess that’s why you haven’t been calling us or even Motoya-kun lately.” She stops to fill the kettle, clearly still fuming. And then her eyes, a limpid amber turn to Kiyoomi again. “You think you’re so stealthy and put together, but we notice these things. And maybe you would prefer parents that were a little different, but we are what you have and we <em>care.</em><em>”</em></p><p>She’s not the person to be blowing up at- no one is, really, even Miya, the cause of his problem, isn’t at fault- but Kiyoomi feels older anger reaching out with his frustration from right now. “Really?” he hisses, wishing he were wearing his mask. “I figured you would be overjoyed, the medication didn’t work after all, and it’s a man.” his voice is louder, more bitter by the second. “I know you wish you had a different son-” he continues, knowingly imitating her. “-but this is what you have. Still, you’re right, I should have gone to Motoya, the only reason I didn’t is because he knows him.”</p><p>Her mouth opens and closes, no sound comes out. That’s when the kettle whistles and they both jump. “Go to the living room-” she says, looking down. “-I will bring the tea.”</p><p>Kiyoomi doesn’t know why he obeys her, maybe he’s just tired, maybe he stopped the medication altogether after his last appointment because there was no point to them anymore.</p><p>She comes out with the nice tea set that his parents gifted Kiyoomi when he moved here and sets it on the table. She sits in front of Kiyoomi, primly serving the tea fro the both of them, not a single error to the etiquette of it. She waits until he has taken his first sip that she speaks. “Did you even consider talking to-” she grimaces. “-this person?”</p><p>His eyes must be wide as saucers. A stunned “What?” is the only thing that leaves them. His mother doesn’t answer, clearly giving him tome to compose himself. “If I wasn’t clear enough, it’s a <em>man</em>. Mother.”</p><p>She puffs out her chest. “I understood that. I'm not deaf.” He can almost hear her teeth grinding. “I also understand the list of possible complications for that surgery. I sat down all morning with your uncle today. He explained every one.” She purses her lips, throat bobbing like she's fighting flowers too. “Look, your father and I are traditional. We <em>love</em> you but we <em>are</em>. We haven't been able to give you the unconditional approval that you might want Kiyoomi, but if there’s a chance to avoid that surgery, I beg you take it.”</p><p>“You know what you’re saying, right?” He’s too angry still to be stunned. “You're giving me permission-”</p><p>“You’re an adult, you don’t need my permission for anything-” She interrupts him. “-I don’t care if we disagree on things, you are my son I want you alive. The risk of death with that surgery isn’t low, so I’m asking you to try.”</p><p>“And I’m telling you that it would be useless.” Kiyoomi glares at her. “It’s not even a choice. It’s all I can do. I’m getting the surgery.”</p><p>“Kiyoomi-”</p><p>“I don’t need your permission.” He gulps down the scorching hot tea and levers her stubborn gaze with one of his on.</p><p>His mother’s eyes harden. “Well then, I’m not going anywhere. I don't need your permission either.” She sits back. “I’ll call my office tomorrow to clear my schedule for the next two months.”</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>He really waits for the other shoe to drop, for her to try and 'cheer' him up with pictures of eligible girls.</p><p>But it doesn't, staunch and dignified, his mother handles the insurance company and the hospital, she makes him eat what he usually would.</p><p>She cleans up the flowers from the kitchen floor when a news clip about the Black Jackals victory makes Kiyoomi's body betray him.</p><p>It's hard to even be mad.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Checking into the hospital on the day of his surgery is more boring paperwork than anything else. Kiyoomi is hungry and his mother is hassling the poor nurses. True to her word, she hasn’t left his side once, helping put away his stuff and listening intently to everyone word the passing doctors might say.</p><p>Outside, it’s a fairly sunny day.</p><p>He hasn’t coughed out any flowers today, and he can feel the building up in his chest. Maybe he can get a little sleep before they overflow.</p><p>Somehow he doesn’t feel scared. If anything he feels empty, a little disappointed, a little alone even though his mother is here.</p><p>Kiyoomi has been hurtling towards this moment since the very first time he coughed out a petal. So why does he feel dejected now? Why can’t he stop thinking of Miya when he hasn’t seen the other in more than a week?</p><p>“Darling, your phone just vibrated.” His mother calls absentmindedly, eyes on the TV. Kiyoomi reaches for the phone on his nightstand, it’s probably some group chat or something. He shouldn’t even check-</p><p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: MIYA ATSUMU -10:03</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Sakusa.</em>
</p><p><em>I</em> <em>’m in Osaka.</em></p><p>
  <em>We need to talk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right now.</em>
</p><p>He almost wants to laugh, but for some reason, his eyes burn. None of the two really manage anything, because a second later he’s reaching for the basin beside his bed and puking out what seems like a whole bush of gardenias, dyed pink with blood.</p><p>His mother rubs a soothing hand over his back, but she also snatches Kiyoomi's phone from where it just fell faster than he can compose himself. “Is this the one?” she asks gingerly, looking at the screen where Miya’s text is surely still blinking at her. “It seems he needs to tell you something important. Maybe you should take that example.”</p><p>“I’m already here.” Kiyoomi hisses, laying back on the bed.</p><p>She sighs, face scrunching up with worry. “Alright.” Carefully, she turns around and lays down his phone on the nightstand. “Alright, I just really wish I could help you.”</p><p>“Meddling doesn’t-” this time, the flowers don't even let him finish the sentence, they come in bunches, in heaves. All because the moment he saw the messages his resolve cracked a little and through the crack poured all sorts of memories, all sorts of stupid things that hes supposed to have already made peace with.</p><p>Miya’s defeated face that last night at the hotel.</p><p>But he’s <em>here already</em>, that’s all he can hold himself together with.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Time is molasses slow.</p><p>At least -after puking a couple more times- Kiyoomi manages to sleep for a little while before the nurses come to transfer him to a gurney so that as soon as the surgery before his is close to being done, they can wheel him down to the OR floor.</p><p>He’s staring at his own fingernails, annoyed at having cut one unevenly this morning -proper nail hygiene both in patients and OR staff greatly reduces the risk of surgical site infections- when his mother calls from the bathroom. “Darling is that my phone? Your dad said he would call before the surgery to wish you good luck.”</p><p>Kiyoomi twists around to check, both his and her phone have been in the nightstand since the text from Miya arrived earlier.</p><p>The one buzzing, however, is not his mother’s. It’s his.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Miya Atsumu (13 recent missed calls)</em> </strong>
</p><p>Submerged in disbelief, Kiyoomi picks up the phone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Primroses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Atsumu's side</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! I didn't actually think I'd do Atsumu's side, but hey, here we are, I'm a sucker for Hanahaki<br/>Hope y'all enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Osamu says that one of Atsumu’s biggest flaws -among the many that his twin sees in him- is that he can’t like things a healthy amount.</p>
<p>He has three settings, Completely obsessed, completely uninterested, and hates whatever-it-is’ guts -so Osamu says, at least,- and once his opinion is set, it rarely -more like <em>never</em>-changes.</p>
<p>Atsumu usually scoffs at the thought, because obviously his brother is talking about volleyball and <em>everyone</em> around him is like that when it comes to volleyball, everyone who is a pro at anything is like what about whatever that anything is. It’s just that way, and it can’t be a flaw, if anything, being able to focus so much should be thought of as a talent, it’s not like it replaces all the hard work he has to put in.</p>
<p>Or better yet, it fuels that. </p>
<p>Most of the time wanting does not equate having.</p>
<p>So Osamu is wrong, whatever, he’s the one with the crush on someone else’s boyfriend.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Alright, <em>maybe</em> his stupid twin isn’t all wrong, or at least not all the time.</p>
<p>By which, Atsumu means only that <em>sometimes</em> in exceptional circumstances, his whole liking things to an absolutely inappropriate degree can be an issue.</p>
<p>He only realizes this, of course, when said thing -person/teammate/stupidly hot man- stops giving a flying fuck about Atsumu’s existence when not on the volleyball court.</p>
<p>And the worst, the very worst thing about it is that Sakusa <em>thinks</em> he’s being sneaky, thinks being the most important word in that sentence because one day he’s sitting with Atsumu, entertaining his need to show his balcony garden -which was <em>not</em> easy to grow, thank you very much- to anyone who might let him, eyes crinkled at their edges, a small curl of his lip where the ever-present mask has been put away for practice.</p>
<p>Then the very next day, he glares like someone has told him to use a public bathroom every time Atsumu is within a two meter radius and seems to have decided that his eyes will burn if they meet Atsumu’s more than a second after the whistle that signals the end of a match has been blown. “Omi-” he calls, face no doubt twisted in anger, but Sakusa’s already walking away, no doubt intent on getting the first turn in the shower.</p>
<p>Normally, he wouldn’t care, not when Sakusa is playing just as well as always or hell, even better, sometimes, these past few matches Atsumu has seen a fire of absolute concentration in his eyes even stronger than the usual.</p>
<p>The problem here is that he <em>does</em> care, and since it’s not affecting how Sakusa plays, then it must be because he properly cares about Sakusa beyond that.</p>
<p>And Atsumu can never care about things just a normal amount.</p>
<p>“Hmm-” a wide hand braces on his shoulder. “-I wonder if Omi-san is sick?” Hinata purses his lips, brow shiny with sweat. “You’ve noticed too, right? He’s been all weird these past two weeks.”</p>
<p>Atsumu shrugs, because he usually doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he likes something enough to be put off when it’s taken away, but this he can’t be honest about, not right now, even to himself. “I wonder what crawled up his ass-” he huffs. “-yer gonna ask him?” he looks at Hinata.</p>
<p>“I mean, it might be something personal. I don't think he'd like that.” The ginger’s upper lip curls in thought but before he can speak Bokuto runs right past them, issuing some sort of challenge to race him to the showers, and Hinata takes it. Leaving Atsumu in the dust, wanting to know what the hell is going on with Sakusa but absolutely unwilling to ask, at least for now.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>“Yer face is gross, what’s goin’ on?” Osamu is cutting up some fish, back turned to Atsumu, who is sneaking bites of the onigiri fillings when he knows the other is concentrating on making the knife-strokes even. “I’m not lettin’ ya keep freeloading off my fillings if ya say <em>nothin</em><em>’.”</em></p>
<p>Atsumu pops some bonito flakes in his mouth and glares at his brother’s back. “Ya really need ta get laid.”</p>
<p>“So do ya, that doesn’t answer my question.” Osamu says, turning around to leave the sliced salmon in a bowl beside Atsumu. “No touchin’ that one! Yer the one that wanted me to make yer team an extra order.” He grumbles something under his breath, Atsumu leans forward, elbows on the counter. He still can’t hear, it’s probably some complaint about Atsumu making him do overtime.</p>
<p>It is pretty late, though, late enough that some people might say it’s early. The street outside of the shop -that he can see through a tiny, tiny window in the metallic pull-down door- is deserted but for the stray cats that have realized Osamu is a softie that gives them leftovers when there are any. “I’m gettin’ laid.” Atsumu says, with absolute certainty.</p>
<p>Because he <em>is.</em> Or at least he did, once, last week, the day they found that gardenia petal on the floor.</p>
<p>-he’s gotten a bush for himself now, they’re pretty, not that delicate, perfect for an apartment-</p>
<p>Osamu nudges the fridge door so it closes, Atsumu meets his brother’s assessing glare. “And yer not happy about it or somethin’?” He asks, swiftly getting the umeboshi bowl out of Atsumu’s reach.</p>
<p>“Of course I’m- That’s none of yer business ‘Samu.” Atsumu glares down at the counter, no, he’s not telling Osamu. There’s barely even anything to tell. “Get the Umeboshi on at least half of ‘em.”</p>
<p>To Osamu’s credit, he just looks at Atsumu for a second before turning back to the onigiri. “Ya do know Sakusa-san comes here sometimes, don’t ya?” Right, as if his brother would ever be decent and let Atsumu be miserable in peace. At least he’s not startled enough to give Osamu a visible reaction, he just raises his eyebrows as obnoxiously as he can and shrugs.</p>
<p>“Don’t project yer tragic love life on me ‘Samu.” He grumbles, stealing a piece of the freshly diced salmon in plain sight of Osamu. “I’m jus’ tryin’ to be nice.”</p>
<p>It’s a low blow, but Atsumu isn’t the kind to let himself be cornered, even by Osamu. If someone backs him into a corner, he bites.</p>
<p>The jab hits right anyways, Osamu’s eyes flash and Atsumu is almost sure for a couple of seconds that he’s going to leave Onigiri Miya with a lot less hair than he walked in with. Something strange happens after though, Osamu sighs, turns around and starts molding onigiri with far more force than usual. “See if I go water yer stupid plants next time, asshole.”</p>
<p>Atsumu steals more salmon, the cats are starting to gather outside. It’s barely September but it’s getting quite cold.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>“TsumTsum is that for us?” Bokuto’s eyes practically shine, Atsumu wonders what he might do if he said no.</p>
<p>He shrugs, setting them down on the table at the front of the room. They’re supposed to watch their next opponent’s last game today. “’Samu had a client back down last night, asked me if you guys might want ‘em-”</p>
<p>Bokuto hoots, interrupting him and rushing for a rice ball. At least someone’s happy. Atsumu can feel the heaviness on his eyelids from getting little sleep last night, but it can’t be helped. He’s not going to dwell in why he felt the need to drive over to Hyogo to see Osamu and ask for a jumbo sized box of onigiri that he actually paid for, or how he ended up sleeping in his brother’s tiny, cramped back room after being deemed too tired to drive.</p>
<p>“Well then say thanks to <em>Osamu</em>-san for us.” Meian grins at him, taking a couple rice balls and stalking off to a chair.</p>
<p>That’s when Sakusa comes in.</p>
<p>He looks the same as always, if a little paler. His eyes drift to the Onigiri and the rise in a question. But since he has decided not to speak to Atsumu, all he does is stare probably waiting for someone else to explain their presence, and if he can take one. “Go ahead Omi-Omi.” Arms crossed over his chest, Atsumu smirks at him. “They’re fer the team,” he shrugs. “’A client backed down on ‘Samu and he likes you gremlins.”</p>
<p>Atsumu is a filthy little liar, but he’s also a good one.</p>
<p>Sakusa looks at him for a second before his eyes drift down again. “Alright, I’ll be sure to say thank you the next time I see him. Are-” he freezes. “-Never mind.” And then he’s reaching for the neatly packaged rice balls, and Atsumu almost makes a mistake, because Sakusa reaches for the wrong ones.</p>
<p>His mouth is starting to open when the other man reaches for the other side instead, for the ones that haven’t come in contact with the other’s fingers, the <em>right</em> ones. All according to a plan he doesn’t even want to admit to himself that he made.</p>
<p>Good.</p>
<p>Later, when the lights have been dimmed and the off-blue light from the screen is bouncing on their faces, he chances a glare at Sakusa, in his quiet corner, sitting primly.</p>
<p>The corner’s of the spiker’s mouth are turned up a little as he chews thoughtfully, Atsumu’s heart chooses that moment to quietly, quietly, do a somersault in his chest. Great, just great.</p>
<p>He can never like things just a normal amount, and the universe has designated Sakusa Kiyoomi to be living proof of that. </p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Sakusa is freakishly flexible.</p>
<p>That’s not a new piece of information, the sports magazines all advertise his wrists whenever there’s a feature done on him. The rest of him is also scarily bendable, but it’s not like anyone notices, not in a sport like volleyball where his wrists -and elbows, but those are not all that noticeable when hyper-extended- get the worst of any blows.</p>
<p>Atsumu is watching the ball, as he should be.</p>
<p>And there isn’t even a crack, hell he’s not sure <em>how</em> or when his eyes have gone from the ball to Sakusa’s bony, long hands, but he sees when whole of his hand wobbles while his arm stays still.</p>
<p>He doesn’t see the ball land on the other side, point to the jackals. Sakusa is holding his wrist, glaring at it a little but - from this distance, at least-- it looks just fine, maybe Atsumu saw something that didn’t really happen. After all, under the watchful gaze of those carbon black eyes, the supposedly injured wrist is bending forward and back, the only telltale sign of pain being the tight corners of Sakusa’s eyes.</p>
<p>Sakusa will surely speak up if something’s really wrong Atsumu is <em>not</em> going to check on him.</p>
<p>They win, they huddle, Bokuto does a little dance before some reporter drags him away and Atsumu is not going to go check on Sakusa who has refused to so much as have small talk with him for like a month now. He definitely doesn’t see how the spiker is struggling putting on the sports tape with his non-dominant hand. Atsumu is <em>not</em> going to- “Uh, can I help ya with that Omi-kun? Is it hurtin'?”</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>He’s ready to back off, to make a crude joke about Sakusa’s flexibility, he'll, to pretend someone’s calling him. But then Sakusa is looking up at him with unguarded eyes, no doubt surprised enough that Atsumu is talking to him that the barrier of distaste he wears in front of Atsumu lately hasn’t had time to come down fully.</p>
<p>Atsumu stops breathing for a second, and then when Sakusa grimaces, like he’s just been punched, Atsumu figures it was a stupid question anyways. He sits down beside Sakusa and gently takes the tape out of his hands, trying to be as kind to the abused joint as possible. Sakusa swallows hard, then mumbles out a curse and Atsumu realizes, maybe he was more hurt than he initially thought. “The last block-” he grits out. “I can move it fine, just-” Atsumu brushes his thumbs over the bony appendage.</p>
<p>He asks if he can help, but of course Sakusa has to be difficult. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head at some point out there? I was clearly annoyed by your screeching.” He says, but his voice lacks any heat, hell his eyes almost seem a little soft and for all he generally dislikes anyone touching him with match-grimy hands his wrist goes pliant in Atsumu’s hold.</p>
<p>It feels…good, like Sakusa trusts him, like he hasn’t been avoiding Atsumu like the plague. For some reason, that makes annoyance bubble up in his throat, he only comes down from it when Sakusa shakes his head and smirks a little, like he’s remembering something funny. “Back on earth, aren’t ya Omi-Omi? Don’t think I don’t notice.” No, Atsumu can’t let sleeping dogs lie, it’s not in his nature. “Does our lil Omi-Omi have a crush?”</p>
<p>Apparently, he hits the nail right in the head because next thing he knows Sakusa is choking on his own spit, coughing like he’s about to hack up a lung or pass out from oxygen deprivation. “Don’t you have someone else to bother, Miya?” he gives Atsumu the most venomous glare the setter has ever seen, vicious to the point where Sakusa even looks a little hurt.</p>
<p>Atsumu’s chest seems to have become too little for the breath he needs, the back of his throat tingles, but he still can’t let Sakusa think it’s affecting him. “Is it Shou-chan? Is that why you were so pissy the other night?” Atsumu remembers Sakusa’s pinched face, he looked like he was about to puke. “Because we’re no-” the warm flesh under his fingers is suddenly ripped away, Sakusa stands up almost violently, not even waiting until he’s done so completely before angrily stomping off to the bathroom.</p>
<p>In his hand, the roll of sports tape feels like a block on ice.</p>
<p>Yeah, that was a very specific land mine he just stepped into.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>It’s not that Atsumu <em>meant</em> to get into gardening, Osamu was just such a grandma’s boy that they eventually bored Atsumu to tears. His grandfather, a good fifteen years older than his grandmother, always did have quite a temper, and didn’t much interfere in how she raised their grandchildren, but he always lets Atsumu go out back and fish out weeds and replant shrubs in the generous piece of backyard that they owned.</p>
<p>Eventually, Atsumu, who never could like something without obsessing, became the one saddled with that task. His grandfather’s sciatica started acting out, or maybe it was gout? He had both, anyways, after thirteen the garden was his and he never let it die out.</p>
<p>Until high school ended, of course.</p>
<p>His grandma had already decided to move to an apartment, since his grandpa was long gone and Osamu and Atsumu were just about. So one cold morning, about a week before his first practice with the Jackals, Atsumu woke up before the sun and set out to work.</p>
<p>The tiny apartment couldn’t house that many plants though, and most of them couldn’t survive in it’s conditions anyways, so Atsumu picked the few he liked the most and left the rest to the perfect, two-parent, two-child, dog and cat family that was buying the house.</p>
<p>Sometimes he envies them. Sometimes he pledges he’s going to have a garden twice as big - and ostentatious too - at some point.</p>
<p>“He’s mean and he hates me-” he’s saying, as he prunes the tiny, yellow leaves from the small gardenia bush. Yes, he talks to the plants, they’re often more helpful than Osamu, although then, sometimes it seems like they disapprove of him as much as Osamu, go figure. “-I mean what did I do? If he really likes Shou-chan-” He stops to think, the gardenias don’t respond. “-but he barely cares about Shou-chan, like, he likes him because who doesn’t but I don’t think-” he props his hip on the balcony railing, lips pursing. “-I guess he likes someone, jus’ <em>not</em> Shou-chan. Maybe it’s a girl? I dunno what he does outside of the team, with how he is … Hmph, it still doesn’t make sense, he’s not <em>that</em> touchy.” After all it’s not like he and Sakusa have been all that close, Atsumu did think they were becoming friends but maybe Sakusa was just tolerating him.</p>
<p>Even he can admit that he is persistent.</p>
<p>He clears his throat, assessing the bush, it hasn’t taken too well, maybe he should switch it to the other side of the balcony? He shouldn’t over-prune either.</p>
<p>A gust of lukewarm wind brushes past him, bringing the scent of the pansies to his nose. Atsumu turns to them, swallowing the tickle at the back of his throat.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Stupid, stupid Meian</p>
<p>The first thing Atsumu does once he actually manages to get his feet to carry him up to the room is hop in the shower, if Sakusa wanted to go in first, <em>he</em> could have been more opportune.</p>
<p>Sue him, he’s frustrated, and tired and grimy from the long bus trip here.</p>
<p>So he pulls out all the stops, face mask, hair mask, fluffy bathrobe with just loose boxers under it. Tomorrows game is the last of the season and they have a real chance of ending up champions, so Atsumu is not going to let Sakusa’s general distaste of his person irritate him. That’s what he tells himself anyways.</p>
<p>But it doesn’t work that way, not with him, not with the way Sakusa avoids even meeting his gaze. And all Atsumu can do is what he does best, he pushes, not too sure there’s a satisfactory end to this but unable to stop himself. “So why? Why are ya mad at me?” He looks down at where the spiker is lying on his bed, relaxed, mask nowhere to be seen. “Yer not petty enough to hold a grudge cuz I teased you about a girl…Right?”</p>
<p>Sakusa looks at him with exasperation in his coal-black eyes, his hands clench on the sheets. Like Atsumu couldn’t comprehend whatever it is that crawled up his ass and died. “What do you think?” he answers his question with a question and it’s maddening, it makes Atsumu feel like the frustration is going to make him self combust.</p>
<p>The only response that feels adequate is also the one that Atsumu knows is the meanest. He sits down on the bed, close enough that the heat radiating from Sakusa’s body feels like it’s calling out to him. The words that leave him are somewhere along the lines of Sakusa not wanting to be touched, something that they both know was not that big of a deal, but it sets up the perfect trigger. Atsumu’s hand hovers over Sakusa’s shin, daring, but also asking. A twisted -<em>stupid- </em>part of him would like to actually be told what’s going on, but clearly Sakusa won’t, he <em>clearly</em> doesn’t care enough to.</p>
<p>“-I wonder how it must feel to learn manners so late in life.” It’s like a blow right to the center of his chest, delivered with nonchalant finesse, Atsumu’s eyes quickly search the alabaster of Sakusa’s face, his hard eyes, the pretty set of his mouth and the contrast of dark, curly hair.</p>
<p>Sakusa betrays nothing.</p>
<p>“Imma go sleep, big game tomorrow don’tcha know?” Sakusa does, of course, but the least Atsumu can do is go to sleep with his dignity. He pulls on his pajamas quickly, and cocoons himself in the covers. For a couple of weeks now, he has been feeling this awkward ache in the back of his throat, maybe he should get it checked out.</p>
<p>With gritted teeth and clenched fists, he turns to the side opposite to Sakusa and drags himself down into a restless, violent sleep that spits him out on it’s other side with a cold chest and aching shoulder muscles.</p>
<p>It takes a while to realize that what woke him was the door being slammed shut, and even longer for him to turn his head to the inevitable reality of Sakusa’s absence.</p>
<p>It’s dawn already.</p>
<p>A sigh escapes Atsumu’s throat as his eyes stare out of the sliver of window visible through the curtains.</p>
<p>Then he starts coughing.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Beaten-egg yellow, the perfect little notches at the ends of the bloodstained petals mock him.</p>
<p>Primroses.</p>
<p>It’s primroses.</p>
<p>For Sakusa.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>At the beginning of the celebration, Atsumu is decided to get absolutely sloshed.</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes of googling in a bathroom stall told him everything he ever wanted or needed to know about Hanahaki. There shouldn’t be many more flowers today.</p>
<p>Besides this is what he gets for not learning to rein his own desire in.</p>
<p>Challenging Inunaki to a drinking contest is just the excuse, so that Meian won’t look at him with <em>too</em> much disapproval as he tries to inhale all the alcohol in the room. The season is over, he can have all the booze and the horrid hangovers he wants.</p>
<p>But of course, slightly-further-than-tipsy Atsumu <em>wants</em> to think about the fucking Hanahaki and Sakusa’s stupid face -which, speaking of Sakusa, why is he even still down here?-, and how he’s going to be hypocrite the next time he teases Osamu on his disastrous attraction to someone that’s already all but married to Bokuto.</p>
<p>-he glares at Akaashi, who is sitting primly in a corner, nursing a drink, on principle, Osamu may be a gremlin, but he still is Atsumu’s brother-</p>
<p>The part of him that’s still kind of rational tries to drown out the stupid ideas he’s getting with more rum, but all ti does is make it worse, and by the time he hears a rough, low laugh coming from the other side of the room, he’s just in the head space to make a mess of it all.</p>
<p>So when Sakusa stands up and leaves, it only takes Atsumu another shots and a quick round of goodbyes to follow. He still only catches the spiker  at the very door of their room, and, as much as he’s made a conscious effort in other occasions to respect the other’s weird boundaries, he’s too desperate and annoyed to care right now.</p>
<p>No, Atsumu can’t love anything a healthy amount.</p>
<p>Sakusa whips around, defensive, dark eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” he asks and the exasperation from before has turned into desperation, matching Atsumu’s perfectly.</p>
<p>And that does clear Atsumu’s head, even if just a little bit. His hand retreats and he tries to bring the conversation down to something a little more manageable, if only because he doesn’t fancy a broken jaw. “Calm down Omi-Omi!I jus’ wanted to talk, but yer avoidin’ me so I kinda needed to get yer attention.”</p>
<p>But of course, that only puts Sakusa on edge even more, he answers through gritted teeth. And his dismissal makes Atsumu boil with annoyance. And yes, yes, he knows he isn’t easy to deal with… sometimes, but here? Here Atsumu has been more than decent, and seeing that he <em>still</em> doesn’t fully understand why the hell Sakusa is avoiding him, well… he goes off. And Atsumu would take nay answer, even a nonsensical one, as long as it was an answer. “-An’ don’t tell me it’s ‘cause I grabbed your hand the other day, it started way before.” He yells, and  the back of his throat feels like it’s starting  to fill up.</p>
<p>The whole thing is a mistake, the dim lighting coming from the window only gives him half-shadows to go on but the visible half of Sakusa’s face scrunches up as if in pain, and a shout -quite unlike him- bursts out of his mouth. “LET GO OF ME!”</p>
<p>Atsumu recoils, stomach churning, fighting to breath through the ball of plant matter in his throat. That self-absorbed sense of entitlement melting out of him as guilt creeps in, it’s not like the fact that he can’t just be normal in his affections means that anybody else should give that affection back. He apologizes pushing down the bunch of other things that shouldn’t come out of his mouth. “Look, fine, but I have no idea what the fuck I did, ok? Hate me if ya want, but at least tell me why, it’s eatin’ at me.”</p>
<p>He sounds like a broken record, like a half a century old song.</p>
<p>And Sakusa, Sakusa is looking at him like he both pities Atsumu and himself. “Is that the only reason you want to know?” he asks in a low tone. And there’s the core of the issue, there’s the big hole in Atsumu’s chest where flowers have decided to grow. Sakusa is a bastard, but he looks hurt, and Atsumu can tell because it’s so different from the Sakusa from before.</p>
<p>He wants to fix that, wants to help. Before he realizes he’s stepping forward, words bubbling from his lips. “See, there’s somethin’!” he accuses, and then more softly says. “Well, yeah I like knowing my-”</p>
<p>“Your spikers-” Sakusa cuts him off, dismissal in every syllable. “To answer your question, you pry too much, it’s bothersome.” He whips around, face cast in shadows that hide the look on ti from Atsumu, his fist tighten at his sides. “I’m not feeling well.”</p>
<p>If there was anything at all that he thought Sakusa might let him do, Atsumu would be leaping at the chance. But some things are just not meant to happen, some things don’t fit, no matter how much one wants them to.</p>
<p>And he realizes, with a shock as Sakusa opens the door to the bathroom that his stupid, one-sided feelings for Sakusa are likely just that. “I was gonna say friends-” he spits, more angry at himself than he is at Sakusa. “But I guess ya never even considered me that much, fuck, what an id-” He can’t be here for another second, or else something damning is going to spill out of his mouth, word or flower, it doesn’t matter. Sakusa isn’t an idiot.</p>
<p>For a second, as he walks down the stairs with his lower lip crushed between his teeth and eyes that burn hot and damp, he even considers getting a room for just himself. It’s not peak travel season and Atsumu has always been decent with his money, so why not?</p>
<p>But in the end, since he was a kid, Atsumu was rarely ever alone. The first week he lived away -really away- from Osamu he had to use a white noise machine to feel at ease while going about his day.</p>
<p>Tonight he’s not going to his brother. He can’t really, he’s in no state to drive and the last train left long ago, but there’s a gaggle of people he’s come to consider friends downstairs and maybe, just maybe, with how demanding primroses are of their soil, Atsumu can drown them, dry them out with alcohol.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Frankly, with the Olympics staring at him from a year away, it wasn’t exactly in Atsumu’s plans to go back to Amagasaki. Much less the more rural outskirts of it where his grandmother lives.</p>
<p>But then Osamu was going, and his grandmother called on Atsumu to come too and-</p>
<p>She <em>raised</em> them both.</p>
<p>-this <em>definitely</em> has nothing to do with the stupid primroses or the fact that Atsumu already got a complaint for clogging the pipes-</p>
<p>-he’s definitely not getting any better, the one internet article he wrote said this shit started off slow, but if five to six times a day is slow, Atsumu doesn't want to know what fast is-</p>
<p>And that’s how he find himself relegated to reorganizing his grandmother’s plants -the ferns are getting way too much sunlight- while they whip up dinner. The small, homey apartment looks almost the same that his grandparents’ house used to, back when he and Osamu were children, lots of impossible looking crochet, not a corner flipped over, not a speck of dust in sight.</p>
<p>Atsumu trades the anthuriums and the ferns and hopes that’s not going to annoy her.</p>
<p>Then he sighs, plops back on the couch  and closes his eyes</p>
<p>It’s been a couple of days, and Saku- and Sakusa is a jerk who barely sees Atsumu as more than a ball-shooting machine, he’s not going to go around moping over something like that, no sir. “If ya have time to faint on the couch like that, start setting the table.” Osamu calls, peeking out of the kitchen.</p>
<p>Atsumu frowns at him. “If ya let yerself rest for a second ya wouldn’t be lookin’ like the recently dead.” He huffs, but pushes himself up and heads for the cabinet. “With those eye bags-” Atsumu snorts. “Are ya sure yer not running some sort of nightclub on the side, if ya are, I want free drinks.” It’s not completely untrue. Osamu doesn’t look <em>that</em> bad, but he’s pale, he looks like he’s had a couple of weeks of terrible sleep, and well, most people think that the absolute workaholic between the two of them is Atsumu, but those people are dead wrong.</p>
<p>If Atsumu can’t love anything just a normal amount, then Osamu can never do anything halfway.</p>
<p>Still, he might be exaggerating just a little so Osamu will go back to chopping up stuff and leave him alone.</p>
<p>It smells like they’re making Butajiru though, and that makes him a lot less annoyed, Atsumu can cook fine for himself, but he just doesn’t have the passion for complicated dishes, no matter how much he may love actually eating them, maybe it’s because it was always granted that he’d come in from the backyard, with dirty hands and grass-stains on his knees and dinner would already be set up on the table. And more recently, after bad games, after good ones, sometimes, even, Osamu’s shop isn’t all that far. Not now that Atsumu has a car and is somewhat willing to admit that Osamu’s leaving him to volleyball alone, did not, in any way cancel him out in Atsumu’s life.</p>
<p>And also, because the Jackals do visit often, and Atsumu can try to be a filter between him and <em>that one person</em> while simultaneously annoying Osamu, and that’s Atsumu’s brand of sibling if nothing else.</p>
<p>Only when he’s ushered into the chair with the wall behind it and his grandma places a bowl in front of him that is so large he doubts even Bokuto would finish it in one sitting, does Atsumu realize that in this fog, in this struggle to hold himself together, he never saw the ambush coming.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>To his credit, Atsumu manages to keep  quiet for the start of it. For the part where his grandma tries to subtly get it out of him, with the soft spoken words of a woman of her time, he can just nod, half-truths his best crutch she does frown pretty hard when he admits he hasn't been to any sort of doctor yet-. It almost feels like it’s going to work but then- “So yer not quarreling with Sakusa-san? Cuz I heard the complete opposite.”</p>
<p>About a week into this, only a week where he’s refused to even look up a doctor, too incredulous and prideful to even consider the possibility, is it expected that Atsumu should be able to control it? He starts coughing, the abused mucosa of his pharynx can feels how the flowers open, blooming right into Atsumu’s airway. And he does try his best, he does, but a couple petals do escape, they fall beside the bowl, on the floor. When Atsumu looks up, there are tears in his grandmother’s eyes.</p>
<p>And Osamu, Osamu who clearly planned all of this is looking on in something akin to horror. Atsumu sees red. “Oh, and who told ya that? <em>Akaashi-kun? </em>Ya know, Bokuto’s <em>fiancé?</em><em>” </em> It’s a low blow, but Osamu had no right. Atsumu stands up, taking his bowl in hand and stalking off to the kitchen. “Ya just had ta confirm I’m as miserable as ya, huh? Well congrats, at least mine is single.” He calls before turning into the kitchen and laying his bowl carefully on the counter, just in time for the flood of yellow from his throat to end up in the sink and not on the floor.</p>
<p>There are voices coming from the living room, high, lilted, hurt, but Atsumu is listening to himself puke and by the time the door slams closed and he notices his grandmother standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, it’s too late. That seems to be a common theme in his life lately.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>The fee the Hanahaki specialist charged is mind blowing. But then again, she’s supposed to be all about confidentiality, exclusivity, options, and, is it too late for Atsumu to move to Europe or something? That ought to slow down the stupid flowers.</p>
<p>There are flowers in the private office that he arrives at too, and isn’t that ironic-and stupid-? They’re calla lilies with healthy green stems and pristine velvety petals. Though with recent events, he eyes them warily, at least primroses are smaller -although lately, he’s been having trouble with the stems-, he’d probably be able to choke on one of those with how large they are.</p>
<p>He goes up to the front desk to give his name. Then plops down in one of the couches, pointedly ignoring the pamphlets and magazines.</p>
<p>It’s barely been a couple of minutes when the sharp-dressed receptionist calls his name.</p>
<p>The consulting room is all warm colors and tapered lines, Atsumu gets it, if everyone that comes in here is feeling as much as a cornered wild animal as he is. It doesn’t help him in particular, especially seeing that he only ended up making an appointment after being guilted into it by his grandmother’s sternest look, but he understands. “G’morning,” he says, walking up to the desk and holding out his hand. “Miya Atsumu.”</p>
<p>She smiles warmly at him, her short dark hair sways. “Nice to meet you, Miya-san.” She takes his hand. “Yamamoto Sachiko.” She doesn’t give her title, but she doesn’t have to. On the off white wall behind her chair, there are more than half a dozen diploma’s. All framed, Atsumu starts reading them, until he gets to the one that proudly reads Thoracic surgery specialist and then he’s too queasy to continue. “Likewise.” He slides into one of the plush chairs. “So, how do we do this?”</p>
<p>The woman purses her lips. “Since this is your first consultation I’d like you to tell me how it all started, and also how much you already know about the disease.” Atsumu stiffens, and she sighs. “Anything you say here is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality, you don’t need to worry.”</p>
<p>“Mhmm…It hasn’t been that long, ya know?” It’s to be expected she would ask about this. “Around a week or so, I was fightin’ with-with ya know- this bastard,” saying Sakusa’s name doesn’t seem necessary, it’s not like it matters. “We’re- I’m a volleyball player, like professionally, this guy’s in the same team as me. An’ we’d been fightin’ for a while but we had to share a room for an away game a couple of weeks ago, an’ he kept avoidin’ me. I’d been feeling like I had a sore throat for a bit, but that was the first time I coughed any up.”</p>
<p>“I see.” The doctor says, quickly typing up something into the computer. “What is your flower? Have you coughed up any stems? Blood?”</p>
<p>Atsumu clears his throat. “Primroses. And yeah, since two days ago, both of those. ” he looks away. “An’ I don’t know that much about this thing, I mean there are pills right? I’m not dyin’ or anythin’?”</p>
<p>At least she doesn’t know how uncharacteristic it was of him to not seek out information, Atsumu <em>was</em> tempted, of course, it’s only natural. But he’s heard the whispers, and maybe there was something -something about what might be the easiest course of treatment, at least for him- that he’s not ready to read. “That is surprising.” She hums. “Generally the first thing people do is try to find information. I do need you to be up to speed with everything to continue though, so I’m going to give you a quick summary. Is that alright?” Atsumu can feel his throat bob as he swallows and nods. “Alright then. Hanahaki disease is a disease of an unknown origin. There’s some infectious component to it, as most of the people who present symptoms can attest to having been in contact with another infected individual. For now, our best theory comes down to spores, but that does leave out the trigger for the actual disease to occur, which as you probably know is unrequited love,” her eyes search Atsumu’s face. “Or at least the perception of it.” He has to stop himself from scoffing, maybe for <em>some</em> people, not him. “We currently have several treatments that slow the growth of the flowers and the damage they cause to the lungs. They’re effective in at least seventy percent of patients, extending their lifespan almost to the same as the general populace’s. There’s also the possibility of surgery, of course, but the side effects generally make it a less desirable option. Although in your case…”</p>
<p>The feeling of cold sweat sliding down the back of his neck makes Atsumu shiver. “In my case?”</p>
<p>“We’d have to run some tests.” She says softly. “But it’s concerning that you’re already coughing up stems five days after the start of your symptoms, it can be a marker of rapid progression and an invasive subtype of the disease. You’re also young, and an athlete, complications may arise… Even though the surgery might also compromise your lung capacity, if it’s done early, it might spare you some issues. Still, the side effects <em>are</em> complete loss of the feelings that triggered the Hanahaki, even memories are affected in some cases. I’d still recommend you try the medication first, but with you, surgery is a close second, unless you think talking to the object of your affections might help-”</p>
<p>“Not an option.” Atsumu sucks in his lips.</p>
<p>“That’s a shame, it’s the only innocuous curative alternative, but that part is up to you”</p>
<p>Up to him, as if, Atsumu wants to laugh -and curse whoever it was that coughed Hanahaki spores into him or whatever- maybe surgery would be the easiest, shortest route. The season’s over, he should-</p>
<p>He <em>should</em>.</p>
<p>Atsumu takes a deep breath, giving her a lopsided, wry smile. “The meds should be fine. ”</p>
<p>He <em>can</em><em>’t</em>.</p>
<p>“Right-” she hums, but Atsumu isn’t really listening. “It doesn’t really work that way. We’re going to need to run some tests first-” Not so soon, not within a week, not when- ”Sometimes the roots can erode into the blood vessels, or even the heart, and then the only option is surgery, Miya-kun are you listening?”</p>
<p>Her voice snaps him out from it, Atsumu looks at the doctor for a couple of seconds before he stands up, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I changed my mind-” he finds himself saying, voice surprisingly even. “-I’m gonna tell him.”</p>
<p>A small smile plays at the corner of the doctor’s mouth. “Like I said, it’s your decision, I’ll still prescribe the tests. If things go your way you can simply not have them done.”</p>
<p>Chest ballooning with a strange -a not-too-smart- sort of bravery, Atsumu nods.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>The bravery lasts just as far as the door of the swanky clinic.</p>
<p>As soon as his loafers hit the concrete outside, Atsumu can feel it fizzling away, fast.</p>
<p>And that’s when anger rears it’s ugly head. This might not even be a good idea but this is also not like him at all. So what if he’s all but sure that Sakusa is just going to look at him with mild disgust? So what? Worst comes to worst, he’s gonna end up getting the shame surgically removed with the rest. And that’s fine, he figures, or it will be when Sakusa is just another teammate and the stupid primroses are dead.</p>
<p>But he’s not gonna let go without even fighting. He-</p>
<p>He pulls out his phone, fumbling with it as nervous clumsiness fills his fingers and he almost drops it. Fuck it all, he’s not letting go this easily, Miya Atsumu can never love things just a normal amount and he can never let go of something he really wants that easily either.</p>
<p>Even if it’s hopeless.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: ME-10:03</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sakusa.</em>
</p>
<p><em>I</em> <em>’m in Osaka.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>We need to talk.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Right now.</em>
</p>
<p>There, they’re sent and- and Sakusa sees them immediately.</p>
<p>Atsumu must look a little funny, standing frozen in the sidewalk by the clinic’s front. Staring at his phone like it’s about to feed him the secrets of the universe or maybe announce a lotto win. For about five minutes that’s all he does. But then, Sakusa doesn’t answer, the stupid blue check marks remain and Sakusa goes offline.</p>
<p>And everything in Atsumu deflates.</p>
<p>Right, right, there’s no use for getting ahead of himself, he hasn’t seen Sakusa in a little over a week, he might just be in Tokyo with- nah, he <em>doesn</em><em>’t </em>get along with his parents. But he could be somewhere else, <em>he</em><em>’s </em> not the one choking on stupid plant matter with even stupider meanings.</p>
<p>Atsumu feels the cough coming, this time.</p>
<p>It doesn’t stop him from having to run back inside the clinic to use the bathroom in the lobby, all while attracting curious glances from everyone around him. It doesn’t matter, he’s feeling lightheaded, the taste of blood already blooming in the back of his throat, this time the stems are long, gnarled roots adorning their ends. Atsumu just knows deep in his chest that if he gets around to getting those tests it’s going to come down to volleyball or his unrequited feelings.</p>
<p>Anyone who knows him knows what the answer to that is.</p>
<p>He rests his forehead on the cold metal of the bathroom stall, taking deep breaths until he isn’t lightheaded anymore. Still, he <em>is</em> exhausted. Maybe it’s better to call a cab to go- wherever he’s going. He pulls his phone out of the pocket of the bomber jacket he’s wearing to ward off the unusually cold day.</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>FROM: SAKUSA &gt;:( -10:06</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>***Attached location***</em>
</p>
<p>That’s all he sends, and then goes offline completely. Sending out what’s probably a beyond obnoxious amount of texts does nothing, neither does calling, no matter how many times Atsumu tries. Maybe the text was meant for someone else? But then Sakusa would’ve deleted it. I really makes no sense. Feeling defeated, he slumps against the bathroom stall and opens the link.</p>
<p>It sends him to some block-long building on the other side of the city, Atsumu zooms in and a small red circle with a ‘H’ in the middle appears. Sakusa is in the hospital? Or he’s meeting someone in a hospital? He’s still offline.</p>
<p>It’s a split second decision, really, a second after a cursory google search provides him with the name of the clinic, he’s dashing out, quickly rinsing out his mouth and then running for the entrance, almost running into traffic as he tries to catch a cab.</p>
<p>“Where are we going, sir?”</p>
<p>Atsumu clears his aching throat, already feeling Itachiyama-yellow petals coming up. “Can you take me to this address?”</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, but Kiyoomi-san has explicitly stated his visitor’s list.” The receptionist says, looking up at Atsumu through narrowed eyes, like she’s considering just calling security. He <em>has</em> been pestering her for the better part of an hour, only to find that this clinic is <em>very</em> serious when it comes to who sees or doesn’t see their patients. “And Miya-san, you’re not in it.”</p>
<p>Atsumu rakes a hand through his hair, it’s already so messed up from rushing here, fuck. He pulls out his phone again tapping on Sakusa’s contact number even though he hasn’t answered all the other times. If he doesn’t answer right now then- Then what? This whole situation is so bizarre, why would he send that location if he doesn’t want to talk to Atsumu? Clearly Sakusa <em>is</em> here.</p>
<p>Heaving a frustrated sigh as the dial tone rings again and again in his ear, Atsumu is ready to give up, hell, maybe he can book the tests here or something, not lose his trip.</p>
<p>“Miya-” Sakusa’s voice sounds hoarse, but stern, and a little annoyed.</p>
<p>There are many things Atsumu wants to say but only one manages to beat his throat tightening. “Why the hell are ya in the hospital Omi-kun?”</p>
<p> On the other side, there’s a moment of silence and then Sakusa groans. “How do you even- It’s none of your business.”</p>
<p>“Well ya made it my business, ya sent me this location like yer leading me on some sorta fucked up treasure hunt.” Atsumu huffs. “Now tell these people to let me upstairs or Imma make a scene.”</p>
<p>“<em>I </em>did not send anything.” Sakusa grumbles from the other side. “And I don’t have any time at the moment. You’re welcome to visit some other time.” His voice goes a little softer, forlorn at the end of that sentence, and it strikes Atsumu as odd. The Sakusa he’s been around for the last two months would have told him to fuck off and not bother him. Atsumu is so <em>nosy</em>, and <em>pries</em> to that Sakusa, after all. So why is he telling him to come another time, if anything, Sakusa isn’t one to hide behind pleasantries.</p>
<p>Something’s fishy about this whole thing, and Atsumu can’t begin to imagine what but hell if he’s going to let himself be led around like some ignorant five year old. “Well, I’m here because of ya-” he hisses. “So give me five minutes or I will camp out in this waiting room if I have to Om- Sakusa.”</p>
<p>He <em>is</em> being too pushy, and a pain, for once the cutting words that Sakusa said the night of the championship ring true. But the thing is that Atsumu would wait, if this were anything else, but Sakusa is in the hospital and acting in a way that Atsumu <em>knows </em> is wrong. Even if he doesn’t get to say anything when he goes up, he can’t just leave, not with his heart beating worry into his bloodstream and the flowers he can feel blooming inside him.</p>
<p>After he knows what the hell is happening, it can be whatever.</p>
<p>He’ll take his pills, or get the surgery, or do something, fix this long term. Right now he needs to see Sakusa.</p>
<p>“I-”Sakusa coughs. “-wait a second-” And Atsumu does, without breathing, without moving, there are muffled voices on the other side but he can’t make anything out and-</p>
<p>A phone rings, the receptionist’s.</p>
<p>She picks it up and murmurs a couple of words of assent, eyes darting up and down Atsumu’s form. Finally she hangs up, pursing her pale lips, and beckons Atsumu to come closer. “Room four-oh-three, take the elevator on the right, don’t try to get to any other areas of the clinic, we’ll know.”</p>
<p>Atsumu wants to chide her, but there are more important things in his mind as he heads for the elevator, tapping his foot anxiously as it comes down for what seems like an eternity. When the doors finally open, he finds himself face to face with a tall, pale woman, with her coal-black hair in an intricate yet professional looking up-do. The clothes she wears are also clearly tailored, high-quality even the coat that hangs from one of her folded forearms.</p>
<p>But what really strikes him are the twin moles on her chin.</p>
<p>It couldn’t be-</p>
<p>She doesn’t spare Atsumu more than a cursory glance, walking right past him and into the lobby.</p>
<p>Whatever.</p>
<p>If waiting for the elevator felt unbearably long, this is absolute torture. The elevator doors open on every floor, and people keep getting in, pushing Atsumu back so much that by the time they get to the fifth floor, he has to shoulder through them to escape.</p>
<p>At least the room is easy to find, before entering, Atsumu reaches the antibacterial gel dispenser beside the door and lets it squirt some into his hand. Before pushing the door open with his shoulder.</p>
<p>Nothing wrong with not making Sakusa even madder than he has to be already.</p>
<p>At first he doesn’t see the other, though.</p>
<p>The room is just like any other hospital room, everything is white or some light shade of blue, the bed is made and empty, with a duffel bag that Atsumu recognizes sitting at the foot of it. For a second, Atsumu feels like he’s making a fool of, even as he takes a couple of steps into the room, walking past the door to the ensuite bathroom to peek at what’s behind the wall that separates it from the rest of the room.</p>
<p>Sakusa is paler than usual. He realizes.</p>
<p>Or maybe it’s the sickly green of the disposable robe he’s wearing.</p>
<p>Or the white of the surgical cap.</p>
<p>Or the fact that he’s on one of those gurneys the hospitals use for transport.</p>
<p>“Fuck-” it comes out as a strangled gasp, and he’s sure that the only reason he doesn’t puke up a bunch of flowers right there is that they take a while to respawn. “-Omi, yer-”</p>
<p>“Just fine, I assure you.” Sakusa’s eyes are the softest Atsumu has seen them in a while, soft and tired and something else he can’t name. “It’s a minor procedure.” He tugs on the hospital sheet that’s covering him up to the waist. “You put antibacterial before coming in here, right?” Atsumu nods. “You do realize I sent that location by mistake, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Atsumu’s chest burns with annoyance. “I thought someone like ya would’ve erased it in a second if ya had.” He squeezes himself between the bed and the gurney, eyes taking in every minute detail of Sakusa’s face.</p>
<p>“You’re right.” Sakusa’s throat bobs as he swallows. “If I had noticed, I definitely would have, and maybe you wouldn’t have barged into a private setting like this.”</p>
<p>Atsumu frowns. “Why do ya have to be so prickly? I’m yer teammate, if ya had jus’ said somethin’-”</p>
<p>“If I had said something all the team would be here.” Sakusa deadpans. “Hospitals are not places for people to gather to do social calls, which is why I didn’t tell anyone-” he clears his throat. “Now that I’ve assuaged your curiosity, could you please-”</p>
<p>“I told ya I had stuff to talk about with-”</p>
<p>Sakusa gestures down at himself. “As you can see this isn’t the time, Miya, for god’s sake I’m about to-”</p>
<p>“Get a minor procedure done, wasn’t that it?” Atsumu can feel his mouth twist into a humorless grin, just as he sports a small folder tucked under the gurney’s mat. Sakusa notices him looking, tries to get there first, but he’s further away and also, when the sheet drops away, Atsumu realizes that the disposable gown is laid over bare skin, at the very least Sakusa isn’t wearing pants.  He snatches the folder, jumping out of the way and holding it open, eyes scanning the first page. “Informed consent…What are ya even getting done? Is it plastic surgery? I always knew ya couldn’t be so-”</p>
<p><em>‘I </em> <em> <span class="u">Sakusa Kiyoomi </span> </em> <em>with full knowledge of what my diagnosis  <span class="u">Hanahaki disease</span> entails do declare that-</em> <em>’</em></p>
<p>For a minute, despite the sun shining outside, the room turns freezing cold.</p>
<p>Sakusa has the fucking flower disease.</p>
<p>Hell, Sakusa probably was the one that sneezed the stupid spores on Atsumu in the first place.</p>
<p>And he’s… getting surgery.</p>
<p>A pale, strong hand snatches the folder from Atsumu’s grip. When he looks up, Sakusa’s eyes are blazing with anger. “You know it’s illegal to read that kind of document without proper consent, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Atsumu couldn’t give less of a crap what it is, or isn't. He feels the globe of bravery, or what was left of it finish deflating in his stomach. He might as well just get into a gurney beside Sakusa and ask to get his own lungs done right after.</p>
<p>There was never a chance, was there?</p>
<p>“What the-” He’s not sure what he was going to say next, it all flies right out of his head when Sakusa starts coughing, more horribly than Atsumu ever has, hands going to rip off the surgical mask he’s wearing as he gasps for air between coughs. When he looks at Atsumu again his eyes are bloodshot and watering and he gestures urgently at the bathroom.</p>
<p>Understanding immediately, Atsumu heads there, only to find the metallic recipients in there already filled with bundles of white flowers -gardenias, he realizes distantly, as he locates an empty one and rushes out with it, just in time to get it under Sakusa’s mouth.</p>
<p>Atsumu looks away, his free hand instinctively  landing on Sakusa’s  bowed back,  rubbing soothing circles into it until the retching stops and he can feel Sakusa looking at him.</p>
<p>He swallows hard before returning the look, the petals tickling him as they go down. “You’re not supposed to be here Miya.” Sakusa rasps out, looking down at the mess of leaves and stems and blood. “That’s why.”</p>
<p>And Atsumu wants to know who the lucky -the absolute idiot- bastard that has Sakusa coughing out flowers and looking miserable like this. He can’t decide if he’d like to be them or punch them, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. “Well it‘s a little late fer that, Sakusa.” He shoots back, in the same disapproving tone, taking his hand away from Sakusa’s warm back and grabbing hold of the recipient.</p>
<p>Sakusa shivers at the sight and turns his head away.</p>
<p>When Atsumu steps out of the bathroom again, after thoroughly washing his hands -more out of concern for Sakusa than for his own comfort- there are two nurse there, pulling up the gurney’s railings. One of them turns to him. “You must be Sakusa-san’s family member.” He says with a smile. “We’ll be taking him down for the procedure now, you can wait in the OR floor and we’ll be updating you, the procedure is set to last around four to five hours so long as there aren't any complications.”</p>
<p>Atsumu nods mutely as his gaze finds Sakusa’s.</p>
<p>Anyone else would say he’s looking pretty stoic, surgical mask back on, eyes on the wall ahead of him.</p>
<p>But to Atsumu he’s radiating resignation.</p>
<p>“Can I come down with him?” he blurts out, and then when the nurse frowns. “Jus’ to the OR doors or whatever, I-”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, sure” the nurse says, eyes drifting between Atsumu and Sakusa. “If Sakusa-san agrees.”</p>
<p>“He can do what he wants.” Sakusa grumbles, so low that it’s almost inaudible.</p>
<p>Only by the time they get to the elevator -a different one than the one that brought Atsumu up- does he notice how bad of an idea this was. Atsumu can feel the flowers crawling up his throat, unrelenting. He swallows and breathes hard through his nose, already feeling lightheaded, hoping to bring them down just long enough for- just long enough. He sucks his lips in as he meets Sakusa’s dark eyes. “Oi, Omi-Omi,” he rasps out, doing his best to smile nonchalantly. “Do I know ‘em?”</p>
<p>The doors open, and Sakusa stiffens, throat bobbing. “That’s none of your business.”</p>
<p>Atsumu feels his eyes burn with the effort he’s making not to cough. Definitely with that. “Oh-” he presses back into the wall as the gurney is wheeled out. “Good luck in yer surgery then-” he grimaces stepping up beside the gurney to give Sakusa a last look, taking in the details of the man’s face. “Let me know yer alright when you come out, won’tcha? If ya don’t I’ll sent Shouyo to pester ya.”</p>
<p>He can’t hold out anymore, so in front of Sakusa’s stunned gaze, Atsumu turns in the opposite direction form where the gurney is facing and begins walking, fast.</p>
<p>“Miya, wait-”</p>
<p>He shouldn’t turn around, he doesn’t owe Sakusa anything, he’s already like five meters away and he really shouldn’t-</p>
<p>Sakusa is half-turned around on the gurney, surgical gown askew exposing a pale shoulder, eyes wide with hurt.</p>
<p>And the flowers win.</p>
<p>Atsumu doubles over with the force of the first cough, the second almost sends him to his knees. At least one of the nurses, on pure instinct, grabs the  metallic bowl that was supposed to avoid Sakusa having any accidents of the way and leaps for Atsumu, catching most of the flood of yellow that springs forward from his mouth.</p>
<p>But it doesn’t stop at that, no, Atsumu heaves again and then it’s not just yellow, but red, and red, and red. And he doesn’t notice Sakusa getting off the gurney with the sheet wrapped around his hips, but he’s kneeling beside Atsumu, face twisted with worry. When it seems like it has stopped, Atsumu heaves in a big breath. “Sorry, Omi.”</p>
<p>Then there’s some screaming, and then, nothing at all.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>The first thing Atsumu notices when he comes to is that he’s naked.</p>
<p>Well not quite, something is covering but he’s definitely not wearing any underwear, and what the hell?</p>
<p>He tries to open his eyes, but the brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead hurts his eyes. Atsumu groans and there’s some rustling beside him. “’Tsumu.” A low voice calls. And when Atsumu can stomach to open his eyes, he find himself staring into his own face. Only Osamu looks like he might just kill him. “What the fuck ‘Tsumu?”</p>
<p>“Great way to greet yer twin, ‘Samu.” Atsumu rasps out, wincing, his throat feels like someone tried to scrub it off with one of those wire kitchen sponges. “Why am I naked ‘Samu? Where’s Omi?”</p>
<p>Osamu’s jaw twitches. “Of course that’s what ya ask-” he grumbles. “-yer naked cuz you went and bled all over yer clothes and then they had ta-” Osamu gestures at his throat with his hands. “Ya know with he thing with the camera ‘cause they thought the plants had eaten yer arteries or something-” he pauses, dramatically, letting Atsumu get antsy about it for a second.”-but it was just a small vein in yer throat or somethin’ anyway, the doctor said ya didn’t need any more surgery fer that. Oh, and yer not supposed to speak.” He smirks, smug. "Fer like three days at least."</p>
<p>Surgery, Atsumu’s hand flies to his chest, expecting some sort of gaping open wound or a row of stitches. He looks up at Osamu, betrayal burning hot in his belly. “Didja-”</p>
<p>“No, idiot ‘Tsumu” He groans, dropping back on the plush chair beside the bed Atsumu is lying in. “They needed yer consent anyways, apparently some people choose to die choking on that shit.”</p>
<p>Atsumu swallows, and it hurts, but he can feel the telltale tickle of the flowers. “Omi?” He asks, throat feeling too raw to say much more.</p>
<p>Osamu’s eyes widen for a second, mouth twisting into a wry smile, then he whips around and exits the room before Atsumu can even try to force his throat to make any sounds.</p>
<p>What the hell?</p>
<p>Atsumu sighs, glaring out of the window and into the night sky. <em>He</em> almost dies and Osamu is mad, granted the last time they saw each other Atsumu was a dick and id say <em>that</em> thing he shouldn’t have said, but come on-</p>
<p>The door opens with a creak and Atsumu doesn’t bother to look at it. “’Samu wha-”</p>
<p>“You’re not supposed to be talking.”</p>
<p>Now Atsumu does look. Sakusa is wearing casual clothes, a baggy black sweater and sweatpants, he looks even paler than before, the set of his shoulders stiff even as he slouches forward the way he usually does. “Omi, didn’t ya-” His throat <em>burns</em> and he grimaces.</p>
<p>“Can’t you just follow instructions for once?” Sakusa walks towards him, sliding into the chair that Osamu left, his eyes are rimmed with red. “And do I look like I had major surgery? Really Miya-” Atsumu glares at him, hard enough that Sakusa stops for a second. “They needed the OR for you anyways.”</p>
<p>Right, Sakusa was there, Sakusa <em>saw</em>.</p>
<p>Atsumu looks away, something like sham burning in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you’re fine.” Sakusa breathes out and Atsumu can feel when he leans his elbows on the bed.</p>
<p>Grasping all his self-control -and more than a little bit of pettiness- Atsumu folds his arms over his chest. “Except fer the flowers-” he coughs, it’s the worst pain he’s ever felt. Sakusa’s weight lifts off the bed and something cold pushes at Atsumu’s cheek.</p>
<p>“No talking.” Sakusa reminds him, Atsumu lifts his hand to the cold thing and realizes it’s a glass of water. He shoots Sakusa a thankful look as he lifts himself up on his elbows to drink it. Sakusa watches carefully, in silence, he only speaks again when Atsumu has leaned over to leave the glass on the nightstand. “I don’t-” Atsumu sees his mouth move under the mask, but no sound comes out.</p>
<p>Atsumu understands, of course, what was in that corridor that could have reminded him of anything else? It was just Sakusa. Who did he run across Osaka for? Also Sakusa. Who has he been pestering way more than a simple friend would for like a month? Sakusa. And <em>Sakusa</em> isn’t an idiot, he surely put the two things together. “’S fine Om-” something warm comes up and covers his mouth. Above the mask, Sakusa is frowning.</p>
<p>“Atsumu,” he grits out and the sound of Atsumu's first name on his tongue makes the setter shiver. “Just for once,” Sakusa takes in a deep breath, looking so miserable, so defeated. “Wait and listen.”</p>
<p>So he says, but he doesn’t speak, and Atsumu feels a great impulse to lick his hand, just to be obnoxious, he would but Sakusa looks serious and he might as well hear the rejection. For all Atsumu knows it might even help.</p>
<p><em>He</em> can’t help but notice that Sakusa looks good, despite the paleness and the irritation.</p>
<p>A couple of minutes pass then, and just when Atsumu <em>is</em> about to lick Sakusa’s palm, it retreats. “I’ve barely coughed out any flowers since you collapsed.” Sakusa says lowly, eyes trained on Atsumu’s face, unwavering and so full of emotion that it takes a couple of seconds for Atsumu to register what he’s said. “I’m not sure if-” he grimaces, and the hand that was just over Atsumu’s mouth comes up to unhook the mask from this ears, his lips are bitten red. “You asked me if you knew the person that kicked off my Hanahaki.” Sakusa steels himself the way he does when he’s about to serve. "You do," Atsumu instantly deflates, oh so that's what it is. “It’s you.”</p>
<p>If he could so much as swallow without it hurting, Atsumu is sure he might have gasped, the words are a blow to his stomach, punching the air right out of him. It's not possible that they're both <em>this</em> dense, at least Sakusa-</p>
<p>“Omi.” Atsumu whispers, all that he can do without feeling like someone’s taken sandpaper to his throat, which is feeling more knotted up by the second, but this time from the tell-tale knot that precedes tears. No tickle, nothing else.</p>
<p>Sakusa’s hands, on the edge of the hospital bed, twitch. Atsumu, caution lost to either the wind or the flowers, or the thing with the camera that had to be shoved down his throat, reaches for them, wrapping his fingers around those long, cold ones. “I don’t need the surgery-” Sakusa breathes out, and Atsumu nods. “Neither do you.”</p>
<p>A happy -though pained- sound escapes Atsumu as Sakusa leans forward. “’M gross right now Omi-” he whispers when they’re nose to nose, a watery grin breaking out on his face.</p>
<p>Sakusa’s  eyes snap down to Atsumu’s lips, his own curling into a little smirk “No talking.”</p>
<p>Gods, Atsumu can never love anything a normal amount, but <em>this</em> is just ridiculous.</p>
<p>Atsumu opens his mouth, just to be cheeky, but by the time he realizes what’s happening there’s already the warm weight of Sakusa’s lips keeping the words inside.</p>
<p>It’s a world changing kiss.</p>
<p>It’s also brief and chaste.</p>
<p>Sakusa pulls back, hooks the mask back on, ears red. Those coal-black eyes study Atsumu, wonder evident in them.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>Osamu doesn’t come back that night.</p>
<p>Sakusa doesn’t leave.</p>
<p>In fact he falls asleep hunched over, head pillowed on his elbows, which are braced on the bed. Atsumu did try to get him on it but it was to no avail.</p>
<p>His eyes study the sleeping man’s features, it may only have been a little over a week but the fact that there’s only a little tickle on the back of his throat now -the last of the flowers trying to come out, Sakusa explained earlier, so it seems he had a long, thorough talk with the doctor before Atsumu woke up- instead of the overwhelming rising of flowers, feels heavenly.</p>
<p>And it’s proof, Atsumu figures.</p>
<p>That doesn’t stop anxiety from pooling in his stomach, but he figures there isn’t much to be done about that here, so he softly brushes through Sakusa’s wavy hair a couple of times and then turns on his side and closes his eyes, hoping he'll soon be dragged off into sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all so so much for reading!<br/>I'd love to know what you all thought about it.</p>
<p>Love :3 Kyrye</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, that' it... I kinda want to write an Atsumu side. Although I haven't decided it because then I would like to give the story some other kind of ending and I'm very torn between pure angst or having them maybe try ad get together. I guess we'll see.</p>
<p>I would love to know what you all thought of this very much :3</p>
<p>Love, Kyrye</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>